New Beginnings
by plenoptic
Summary: My own version of how Optimus met Elita. He was her reason for setting foot in that recruit office. She was his reason for living forever after. Chapter 35 The Beginning.
1. ARC 1: Ellipses

Chapter One 

Plenoptic

**A revised version of how Optimus Prime and a miss Elita One met… I'm all for Elita because of her "girl-power" antics. Please enjoy, please review (in that order) and for the sake of a newbie please no flames. I know you're all pretty nice around here. **

The recruit office looked ominous.

Well, not surprising. How many had she seen arrive on its threshold and heave energon remnants all over the feet of the officer as he opened the door to not do just that? She'd escorted her own best friend here only weeks ago; it had taken several tries to get the large, shaky mech to just open the slagging door and say "Hi, I wanna kill some Decepticons. Where do I sign up?"

That line had the officers rolling in their seats.

Yeah, Elita thought it up.

She shook her head and proceeded down the busy road, the small steelplex building fading behind her. Frag. This was her, what, fifth loop? Every time she turned that corner she thought _This time for sure, _only to feel her energon tanks clench uncomfortably and force her onwards. She kicked the same discarded bottle she'd kicked four times previously, and the slagging thing finally shattered. Geez, she was losing her touch. Her kicks had been famous at the old strategy academy she'd previously attended; most mechs there seemed to think that a femme sitting in the room was an excuse for "accidental" trips and "accidental" uncomfortable touches.

Their poor afts would never be the same.

_What am I doing? _She wondered miserably, her optics following the slow procession of a transport vehicle along the Cybertronian highway. Why had she ever been under the impression that a femme her age had a chance? That a femme in general had a chance? She'd never been in combat, never pointed the nose of a gun and held the trigger, she'd never taken a life. As her instructors at the strategy had said on the first day…Primus, that first day…

"I'm looking at you all right now," the ancient mech had declared loudly, gazing at them with a kind of furious pride, "because you are the best of the best. Femme and mech alike have struggled through the junior classes, but only the elite have made it into this course. Because you may have what it takes. You may have the brains, the intelligence, the tact. But you know what? Looking at you all right now, I doubt even half of you have the Spark."

His statement had been met by silence—both confused and slightly terrified.

"Looking at you all right now," he'd continued, his optics locked strangely on Elita as he did so, "do you think you've got the Spark…the _guts_…to look at a member of the same species, aim that gun, and pull the trigger? Because I will tell you the truth all teachers before you have outright denied—we are no different from the Decepticons when it boils down to Sparks. We are all Transformers, all the children of Primus…we just have different ways of thinking. That's it. We think differently. Yet we fight. Do you know why? I do. It's because we fear the way the other side thinks. We are afraid of the Decepticons…so we meet them fearlessly."

It was funny. As confused mutters spread throughout the class, Elita's optics had widened slightly; she understood. It was suddenly made crystal clear, all of the smog was swept away with a few simple words. _We fear the way the other side thinks._ It was so true. Elita did not fear the Decepticons; they were Transformers. She feared them no more than the ancient, crippled mech before her. She feared the way they thought, what they considered to be right and wrong…and the intelligence they possessed to enforce that thinking.

The truth was such a beautiful, terrifying thing.

Snapped from her nostalgia, Elita turned and looked back at the recruit building, not a hundred yards away. Her feet set off without her orders, without her knowledge, but she didn't care. She didn't care how she got there, as long as her name was on that military list. As long as her superiors would look down at her name and think "Another one. Just like the three hundred before." She didn't want to stand out; not yet. She had to be a part of this; she had to be an Autobot, she had to stand beside someone who thought as she did. She didn't care if it was a mech or femme or some freakish combination of both; she needed a friend.

Primus, more than anything she needed a friend.

But where to find such a person…

Optimus Prime groaned as he stretched his sore joints. It wasn't the first time he'd done either; the recruit lists went on and on…

And on.

And _on._

"So many frisky little ones eager to get themselves blown up," Prowl said disapprovingly, shifting a large stack of resumes off of his leader's desk and onto his own. "Give me those, or you'll blow a gasket."

"Prowl, I can…"

"No you can't. Just do what you've got there, and I'll do this, and maybe we'll get a few minutes of recharge in before the night's done," Prowl said, waving a hand dismissively. Optimus smiled slightly and bent back over the endless paperwork; at least this resume in particular seemed promising. Wasn't every day you got a kid who knew a thing or two about medical techniques.

Ratchet would be thrilled.

"Why are they so eager, Prime?" Prowl muttered, and although he used his commander's name he seemed to be talking to himself. "Why are they so eager to scar their innocent optics?"

"…I don't know," Prime murmured, leaning back in his chair and tilting his head to stare at the dull steel ceiling. His optics seemed to be up there a lot lately. "They probably don't know what they're going to see. This war's young; they don't know what it's like out there. We were the same way, were we not?"

Prowl scowled and looked up at his commander. "Well, yeah, but we had to practically drag ourselves to the recruit office. We were terrified, remember? Even Ironhide was, like, hyperventilating."

"Who's to say these little ones aren't?" Optimus chuckled, indicating the stack of paperwork Prowl once again hid behind. "They're just caught up in their own fantasies, old friend. Convinced they'll walk in and play the hero, convinced that all of Cybertron will revere them as Primus-sent salvation, that they'll become instant femme magnets…"

"See? Look at the bad examples you set," Prowl said critically, but a grin immediately stretched over his face. Optimus laughed widely; Prowl had a way of poking his humble ego bubble in a most pleasing way.

The laughter died slightly as he looked down at the desk; much to his disappointment the "To Do" pile was considerably larger than the "Done" pile. With a sigh he pulled his chair back in and bent over once more—and the name that met his optics made him jerk slightly.

"Huh?"

"Huh what?" Prowl grunted, his optic ridges pulling together as he entered a heightened state of concentration.

"…I just wasn't expecting…uh…huh. It's a femme."

Papers flew all over as Prowl threw his arms into the air; Optimus jumped so badly he almost fell out of his seat, and his temporary unprofessional predicament sent Prowl into a fit of giggles for a good ten minutes.

"Another one, huh?" Prowl snorted, and Optimus's faceplates reddened slightly as his energon heated with embarrassment. He silently told his chemical reactors to cut it out. "I don't know, we've gotten a couple of femmes signing up…I guess they think is a free dating source or something…"

Optimus blinked his optics and frowned quizzically. "Maybe they honestly want to help the cause."

Prowl snorted. "Have you seen today's femmes? I saw one out on the road the other day; she was all in a slagging fit because someone put the tiniest scratch on her paintjob. I thought fists were gonna fly, it was a real mess. I actually had to pull out the badge and tell them to knock it off before they really went at it. Seriously, femmes are scary when it comes to looks."

Optimus laughed. How like a femme.

"This ain't no walk in th' pahk, ya hear?" the giant black mech growled, his dark blue optics fixed upon the rather large crowd of recruits before him. "Y'all musta done somethin' spectacular to make it this fa', but do ya know where ya ahre? This is Autabaht headquarters, kids. This is where th' best o' th' best make their rounds, this is where it's ahll at. Ya think yah're jus' gonna put yer feet up and enjoy th' view? Yer wrong. Yah're gonna cry, yah're gonna sweat yer energon; an' if ya make it past _that_ ya getta go to th' front an' cry some more. Only frahm there on ou', it's th' real deal. Yah'll be crying over th' body of a dead comrahde, an' yah'll havta get used ta it."

"Scary, huh?" someone muttered, and Elita jumped; she hadn't been expecting a feminine voice here of all places.

"Um…sorry?"

"I mean, that guy's, like, terrifying," the femme snorted, crossing her arms over her blue-green frame. "I heard he's called Ironhide. He's the third in command around here or something."

"The second being…?"

"Uh, some mech named Prowl. Um, please know the name of the first in command?"

Elita sighed, and her faceplates reddened. Optimus Prime. How could she ever forget that name? That name had been the source of it all…her whole reason for joining the military, for attending the strategy seminars, for walking past that recruit office for the past year…

The day she'd gone with her best friend to the steelplex building—the mech with the slagging awesome tough guy line—_he'd _been there. His deep baritone had vibrated around the walls of the small building as she'd entered. He'd been leaning casually against the wall, his arms folded over his broad chest, his soft laugh a deep rumble in his throat; and he'd looked up and smiled and her Spark had very nearly extinguished then and there.

Primus, had anything ever looked so noble?

"Victim two seventy three," he'd said warmly, smiling at the shaky mech. "Welcome, young one. Ready for hell or what?"

He'd been so casual. So gentle. And yet…as he walked her best friend through the conscription process, Elita had only hovered in the background, her Spark clenching uncomfortably. Her faceplates had felt hot, and her form had begun to shake almost uncontrollably as he laughed again, his voice warm and content. And the whole time she could only watch, watch and wonder who he was, if he was part of the Autobot resistance, if he was a high ranking officer, if he had a mate…

Stupid question, that last one. But she wondered all the same.

Because she could picture herself so easily in those arms; all too easily she could imagine the caress of his fingers against her cheek, all too easily she could imagine the sweet, metallic taste of his lips…

And he'd looked up.

"You're awfully quiet over there," he'd said gently, smiling tentatively, inviting her to speak. "Is Chasm here a friend of yours? Or…?"

Talk, she'd begged herself silently. Say something. Tell him your name. He won't care, but it'll go to his memory banks. It'll be there.

_My name could be in his memory._

So somehow she'd managed it. She'd managed to squeeze out her name, why she was there, that yes, Chasm was her _friend—_why so much emphasis on that last word?—and she'd asked him about himself a little. Casually as a femme with a racing Spark and burning face could.

And he'd told her. He almost looked like he had to think a bit on his name—but it had come back easily enough and he'd told her. He was the Autobot commander. It was his day off. His second in command was the spawn of Primus and had agreed to take over his shift. He hadn't been out in weeks. Did he mention his second in command was the spawn of Primus?

His name. His rank. His second in command was the spawn of Primus.

This was all Elita knew about Optimus Prime. The handsome, charismatic Autobot leader who'd spoken so kindly to her, who'd smiled with so much warmth. And at the time, she'd felt it; a desperate, overwhelming need to be near him. For a while, just the thought of being on the same planet was wonderful, the fact that they were usually in the same city a gift from Primus. But as time went on, she found herself thinking of him more often, and her longing grew stronger, her need for him overpowering. She didn't know what to call the feeling…

But it wasn't love.

No, there was no way. The few precious minutes hadn't been enough, the few wonderful words weren't enough for her to fall for him. She couldn't fall for a mech she didn't know. She couldn't call for anyone right now. Period. She was a military femme now, a raw recruit, and fighting for the cause was the goal. She couldn't get distracted. So she focused on the black mech before her, tried to listen to his words—but a slight movement on the battle bridge above them caught her attention.

And that familiar "love" feeling caught her again.

But only briefly, for it was replaced by confusion.

Optimus Prime was leaning over the balcony, his dark blue optics surveying the small crowd below carefully, his face calculating, but…what was wrong with him? His face was hidden by a steel mask, his stance was tight, his optics cold and unfeeling, gazing upon the recruits not as fellow Transformers but as soldiers, tools of destruction, the drones that would stake their lives to fight this war. Fear took Elita as she watched his optics narrow slightly, his expression growing harder as Ironhide dove into his "how to protect yer aft" speech—to which the femme beside her was listening with some enhanced interest. Yes, Elita felt fear, but then the warmth came back as his face softened very slightly, almost invisibly; and although his remaining intensity worried her she found she did not want to look away. He was too beautiful, too noble in the Cybertronian sun's dying light.

No, she didn't want to look away.

Never again.

And it didn't look as though this would be a problem, for at that moment, as his optics wandered the virtual sea of recruits, they paused on her. His blue irises widened in recognition; against her will her head turned away, her face red, despite the infuriated protests of her Spark. She tried to focus on Ironhide's "how to not shoot yerself in th' face," but her mind continually wandered to the massive mech above. She wanted to slap herself; this was no time to act like a youngling with a crush! But it was there, all the same, that warm "love" feeling…the truth was once again beautiful:

He had _remembered._

The mass of recruits swarmed from the steel doors of the auditorium a half hour later, the confused babble a maelstrom over the officer's orderly yells. Many gave up after a few chaotic moments, leaving two hundred large humanoid robots to find the slaggin' dormitories on their own. For a time, Elita followed the trend, knowing no better than the energetic femme at her side where their quarters were located. However, when another half hour of aimless wandering didn't get them anywhere, she took the initiative, pausing at bulletins and empty computer monitors in the hopes of finding a map of some kind.

"I'm Chromia, by the way," the femme at her side chirped brightly, bouncing in step behind Elita as she craned to see the top of a holo-screen. "I'm from Iacon, third division. Who are you, where're you from?"

"Elita," she replied vaguely. "I'm from Iacon, second division…you see a map anywhere?"

"Huh? Nope. So, Elita, huh? Lucky, getting a cool name. I mean, what the pit is a _Chromia?_ Isn't that some weird kind of element?"

"That's chromium."

"Right, well, same difference. What's Elita supposed to mean?"

Elita frowned slightly. "I'm not sure. I don't think it means anything in particular…just the name they gave me. Seriously, help me find a map."

"Elita?"

She jumped badly, her Spark clenched as the gentle hand came to rest upon her shoulder, and she felt her faceplates redden; oh, how she'd long to hear that deep voice again… she turned and found herself gazing up into his bold optics.

"I thought I recognized you," he laughed, his optics devoid of the coldness she's seen earlier. "Tell me, Elita, what in Primus's good name is a femme like you doing in a place like this?"

"I was…inspired," she said vaguely, reflecting on her true reason for joining up—just to be near him… "I guess it was impulse more than anything…"

He chuckled. "Huh. You may find impulse isn't enough to get you through this place, recruit."

"I can hold up," she said firmly, smirking widely.

"Really," he retaliated, folding his arms over his broad chest. "Are you a good shot?"

"You bet the pit I am," she growled.

Although she could not see, his lips twitched in a smile. Interesting, this femme. Those were bold words in the face of her commander. Then again, this femme had been interesting from the very beginning. "Well. You'll have to join me in the shooting range sometime, won't you?"

"Be ready to lose," she retorted confidently, and he released a deep laugh.

"I'll humble my ego. Well, I have duties to return to, but…I don't suppose you're looking for the recruit quarters?"

"As a matter of fact," Elita said meekly, blushing slightly. Hard thing to admit to, being lost.

He chuckled and motioned for them to follow (Chromia had been watching the interaction open mouthed) and set off down the slightly less crowded hallway, veering away from the mass in the complete opposite direction. Elita and her newfound friend followed (Chromia's jaw still hanging wide open), jogging to match his brisk, strong pace. Taking note of this, he slowed his gait enough that they could walk comfortably at his side.

And as they did so he could not help watching her. He was admittedly unaccustomed to seeing femmes around his base—seeing them anywhere in general, really, though he was unwittingly followed by a fair few whenever he went out in public. But it did not take a mech well versed with the ladies to see the obvious; this Elita person was beautiful. Her armor hugged all the right curves, her face was perfectly molded from the softest steel, her voice trilled in a pleasing way when she laughed. She didn't look like a creature made for the battle field, but that was what was most intriguing; it struck Optimus as incredible that this delicate looking form held such a determined, strong Spark. After some speculation he realized hers and his positions were exactly opposite. His wide, impressive body hid his insecure feelings toward this war, his enemies, his comrades…

Himself.

Himself most of all.

"Here you are," he said, opening a door that led into a wide gray hallway, lined with many other—considerably smaller—doors. "Not much to look at, but they're comfortable enough on the inside. We're working up the funds to have some kind of computer installed in each, but this Primus-forsaken war racks up prices you wouldn't believe…" he shook his head darkly and turned to them. "So. Have you got a number."

"Uh," Elita replied blankly. "Was I supposed to?"

He smiled and placed a hand on her shoulder. "You're in the military now, recruit. We get organized around here or we get killed. Even down to room numbers. I'll bunk you in eleven-sixty-one over here, and your friend can take the one just aside it. But be prepared to move, okay? My second in command is a real monster when it comes to little things like this."

"The spawn of Primus?" Elita blurted. She'd replayed that through her head for the months since she'd first met him; it was one of the three facts she had about him.

His optics blinked, then the memory came back and he laughed. "Well, such a judgment is debatable under circumstances. But Prowl's a good guy, really he is. Anyway, I'll leave you two to it; Ironhide will be about ready to blow a circuit by now, what with all these young ones running around, and Ratchet will be needing my help to calm him down. It was nice seeing you again."

His sudden extension of his hand startled her slightly, but she slipped hers in. Instead of the brisk shake she'd been expecting, his strong fingers closed gently over hers in an almost affection squeeze; his optics met with hers briefly before he slipped away and down the hall. She felt a sudden, unexplainable urge to tear after him, wrap her arms around him and sleep forever in his warm embrace—not that she knew what his embrace was like, she reminded herself sternly. This was no time to let romance bloom, she had duties to keep. However, Chromia seemed to think the opposite.

"That was juicy," she said mildly.

**Victory—chapter one is complete! I do hope you enjoyed it, I had so much fun writing it; I'm such a huge optimusXelita fan. Review if you'd like, please neglect to leave flames; I'll get burned. **

**I'll update as soon as I can, but please be patient.**

_Plenoptic_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two 

Plenoptic

**Something depressing in my eyes…I haven't really portrayed Elita correctly, according to one of my reviews. Although such constructive criticism is much appreciated. Two fine points to remember:**

**Elita and Optimus are both much younger in this fic than they are in the events documented by the animated series…it's only natural for Elita's chemicals to be a little unbalanced when faced with a mech like Optimus, who is so mature for his young age. **

**This is indeed a fan fic. So don't be too bugged if stuff doesn't work out right. However, from this point on it'll come down to Elita growing stronger as a person; the important thing is that Optimus is there to help her out where needed, whether help is wanted or not. Because she wouldn't love him any other way.**

**Uh, I realize it's odd to have Elita be a recruit while Optimus is barking orders, but if I were to change this now the fan fiction would basically completely lose its impact. It would unwind the story line, and that would not be good. No, not good at all.**

**So, let's roll out, shall we?**

"…Uh. What is this?"

Jetfire looked up to find both Optimus and Ironhide bent over his desk, optics fixed warily on the experiment perched on its flat surface.

"It's me being impulsive, actually," the scientist replied brightly.

"_Our_ Jetfire, impulsive?" Ironhide mock-gasped. "Perish th' thought."

"Oh, shut up," Jet grumbled, while Optimus snickered.

"Okay, seriously," the commander said quickly, aching for details on the mysterious contraption. "What is this thing?"

"A shell," Jetfire replied vaguely, lighting a small flame beneath one of the "shell's" steel plates and observing the reaction with curious optics. "Huh…looks like it might warp too easy. Should fix that…"

"A shell," Ironhide repeated skeptically, lifting an optic ridge.

"A shell," Jetfire confirmed.

A small silence followed. Optimus cleared his throat. "Which is…?" he prompted.

"A robotic body that could be capable of housing a Spark," Jetfire said, making notes on his data pad. "Ratchet mentioned how much it might help if we could produce Sparklings without some ancient relic we can barely keep our hands on, or a femme, which are even _harder_ to keep a hold of around here…"

"Ah, well, fems aren' tah crazy abou' th' whole fightin' thing," Ironhide said, shrugging. Optimus merely grunted, and the trigger-happy mech looked over at him. "Wha' was tha'?"

"A grunt," Optimus replied mildly, bending over the shell. "How high a temperature do you think it could withstand?"

"I dunno…but it's gotta be higher than that of a Spark, and that ain't no easy task," Jetfire said, shaking his head. "I think I'm gonna have to find some corpses that have been sent over to the university and use them for parts. They just don't make us like they used to."

"How'd they use to do it?"

"Oh, well, the armor used to be energon reinforced, but now they just put that in the paintjob. It's better if it's in your actual system, because…"

"If your paint job gets stripped nowadays, you're doomed."

"Oh, you do catch on fast. So, anyway…heard we got a whole ton of femmes this time around."

Ironhide grimaced and jerked a thumb at Optimus, who was still bent over the shell, fascinated. "He's a femme magnet, Ah already told ya."

"Hm?" Prime asked distantly, circling around the desk to observe the shell at a different angle. "What was that?"

"Nothin'," Ironhide sighed. "Anyway. Most of 'em are all membahs of Prahm's fan club…Ah'll bet halfa 'em drop ou' in ah few weeks."

"Hey, Ironhide, that's not fair," Optimus laughed. "I've met a couple really spirited ones. You could have some competition for your position here in a few years."

Ironhide snorted. "Listen, kid, ain't no femme gonna take mah place. An' if they do, yah'll live ta regret it, mark mah words."

"I'm shaking," Prime replied, amused. "This is incredible, Jetfire."

"Yeah," Jetfire sighed, nodding his approval. "I guess Primus just decided you guys needed some real brains when he sent me along. But anyway. I've got work to do, so I'm gonna have to ask you gents to leave. Like, now."

"As in now?"

"As in _now._"

"I'm bored. Hey, Lita, I'm bored. Think there are any errands I could run…? Hey, Litaaaa, I'm boooooored. Are you listening to me?"

"…Huh? Yeah, sure I am."

"You are not! Listen to me!"

"I am! You said you were boooored," Elita snapped, imitating Chromia's whine perfectly, which only made her newfound friend giggle. 

"Hey, you're really good at that."

Elita groaned and slumped back in her seat, tilting her head towards the ceiling. Okay, so watching the monitors was boring. And useless, as any enemy forces that came within a hundred miles of base would set the off, and _then _the little red blips would appear on the screen. It slagged her off; she was like a _backup system._ And although her career in the military was young yet, one thing could be said: Elita wasn't going to do well with backup. She'd done some serious Spark-searching the night before and decided the youngling-with-a-crush was no more. She was Elita, she was a soldier, she had graduated from the top strategy academy on the face of Cybertron, and she wasn't about to play second fiddle to _that_ mech. Not to him. Thinking back on the night weeks ago, it irked her a bit; what had he been getting at, acting so smooth, then not sparing a word for her afterwards?

_Primus forbid,_ she thought irritably, flipping her chin back down and staring angrily at the computer console. _I am not bowing down to _that.

"Okay, on a hotness scale of one to ten, Ironhide or Jazz?" Chromia suddenly whispered ecstatically. "I'll be perfectly honest with you, I think Jazz is totally awesome. With that accent? Where do you suppose that's from, Alphacon or what?"

"Uh…not sure," Elita said truthfully. In all honesty, most of the mechs around here seemed a little low class; just the motley old soldiers Prime—ahem, _that mech_—had managed to scrounge together. Not that she could really blame the poor guy, he had to be hurting for forces. The Decepticon rebellion had occurred so abruptly, with no warning, although foul rumors had always flown about Megatron. But to split the Transformers race cleanly in half? It was a political blow as well as a moral one; even if Megatron had never been the warmest of Sparks he'd always been on the behalf of the people. For the people, of the people. Looking at him now, it was hard to believe that handsome, quiet mech had ever existed.

But the past wasn't important right now, Elita reminded herself firmly. What Megatron used to be no long mattered, it was nothing but a footprint on the bloody battlefields that made up their once mighty planet. Now was not the time to be falling for your commander; now was the time to put a little tail pipe in it, take back what the Decepticons had stolen.

"Sorry," Chromia groaned. "I'm annoying you, aren't I?"

"Huh? Oh…no, not really…"

"Look, I'm not normally like this," Chromia pressed, her optics desperate. "I'm just…Primus, I couldn't believe there would be other femmes! But after I met them all, they seemed so…empty headed, you know? Like they were just here looking for a mate. But ya know what? You're different, Elita. You're not here because of some guy, right? You've got a good head on your shoulders, huh? You don't need a mech to be a regular bad aft!"

Elita blinked, stunned that this ditzy fem was capable of such an in depth perception; but then a grin split her face. "Slaggin right, I am! To Pit with mechs, right?"

"Well, can we keep the cute ones? Just the cute ones, we don't need the really manly ones! Like, we can keep Jazz and Jetfire, right? Or…"

The babble resumed, and Elita sighed. Okay, so the insight had been too good to last. Still, there was something slightly reassuring in having a friend. Independent as she was, Elita felt it was nice to know she wasn't all alone with these idiots.

"Oh yeah!" Chromia yelped so loudly that half the control center turned in their seats with scornful shushes. "Did ya know there are Sparklings on this base?" she continued, more quietly this time.

"Really?" Elita asked, surprised by this fact.

"Yeah, I just found out from this incredibly hot mech. I think his name was…uh, never mind, anyway! I'm pretty sure they're twins: Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. I guess Sideswipe's kinda screwed up, and Sunstreaker's just a regular prankster. Apparently they're both real pains in the skid plate. But who cares? Sparklings! It's cool that in the midst of all this insanity, there are still little ones…"

Elita cocked her head, her beautiful face contemplating. Yeah, that was a good thing. In the middle of war—awful, bloody, tragic war—life still bloomed within the Autobot ranks. More than anything it was incredible; incredible that amidst all the pain, the Spark-ache, these motley mechs still found room to care for Sparklings…

And, almost on cue, the doors flew open, and two small bullets zoomed in.

"Mine!"

"Mine!"

"Sides, you stupid Pit-spawn! Gimme!"

"Back off, ya dumb fragger! You put it down, so it's my turn!"

Optimus caught the door before it could swing closed and held it open for a gasping Ratchet. The medic entered, his blue optics fixed on the wrestling Sparklings upon the floor. "I…am gonna…rip _both_ their skid plates off," he panted, his faceplates darkening with anger. "Primus…"

The twins froze, and Sunstreaker's optics widened. "Optimus, is Ratchet gonna kill us?" he squeaked, and the commander shot his medic a reproachful look.

"Not if you put down the—hey, is that one of Jetfire's smaller shells?"

"No," both lied, and attempted to cover the stolen experiment by sitting on it. Which didn't do much good, shockingly. Optimus sighed and strode to the middle of the room, then stooped down and swept Sunstreaker into his colossal arms. The Sparkling squawked in protest, but at Prime's gentle hushes settled down somewhat remorsefully, yet he seemed reasonably content as he snuggled into the older mech's enormous chassis. Ratchet picked up a much less compliant Sideswipe, grumbling irritably as the Sparkling burst into hysteric tears, his small face scrunched into an angry snarl.

"So the deviant twins strike again," one of the mechs at a monitor sniggered. "Whoooooooh, Jetfire's gonna be a real aft when he finds out they took his stuff."

"Watch your language, Wheeljack," Optimus growled, his optics narrowing dangerously. "I know I'm not the only one who heard them spouting all that off."

"They musta picked it up from Ironhide," Wheeljack said mildly, trying his best to look innocent. Which he never did very well.

Ratchet actually hissed in displeasure. "Wait just a second. Ironhide's got a filthy audio transmitter on the field, but you and I both know he's taken the liberty of being very careful around the little ones. And next time we hear them talking like that, it's your head, Wheeljack."

Wheeljack winced. "Ouch. Okay, okay, I give. Sorry, Chief."

"A glitch?" Elita blurted suddenly, and they all turned, slightly startled.

"No, I'm sure the use of language was completely voluntary," Ratchet retorted, but she shook her head.

"Nah, I mean…the monitor…no, that's no glitch…hang on…" Chromia cocked an optic ridge as Elita hammered the keypad relentlessly, her optics narrowed as lists of data rolled across the screen. "In here somewhere…no way it's a glitch, no way…too small…didn't affect anything else…it's…holy slag, that's interference!"

"What do you mean, interference?" Optimus questioned, coming to her monitor and placing a hand on the back of her chair, still cradling Sunstreaker in his left arm. "What's wrong?"

"We got pinged," Elita said, pointing to a tiny row of five numbers amidst thousands. "Look. The sequence is off. Someone hacked our system from outside base and messed with the program. That point on the map is a permanent blank. It's a void. Someone's got something over there they don't want us to know about. Look…"

A few more moments of hammering the keypad ensued. Optimus handed the twin off to a very disgruntled Ratchet with a murmured "Get Prowl". He looked down at the femme, half skeptical and half awed; he hadn't seen anything odd about the number sequence, but to have picked out those five numbers in particular…his Spark clenched uncomfortably. He had a bad, _bad_ feeling about this. Elita "Ah-hah!"ed in triumph, and as his head snapped up to look at the monitor, his energon processor dropped to his feet. The long scrolls of data had vanished, to be replaced with the terrain map once more; and there, not ten miles from base, was a small red blip.

"She undid the void," Wheeljack said, clearly stunned. "A femme did. She clean ripped it straight out. Holy slag."

"What is that?" Optimus demanded, leaning forward slightly. "By the Allspark…some kind of transmitter?"

"Looks like," Elita said, her optics narrowed suspiciously. "But why would whoever did this bother to void a transmitter? No, wait…the transmitter sent the void. So what's there that they don't want us to know about? The void was too small to hide any major weapon, and the energy levels weren't spectacularly high…unless…unless a bot sent that virus," she said, and her optics widened as it dawned her. "A _Transformer_ made that void! The transmitter…it's a Decepticon!"

Every mech (plus one femme) in the room ogled at her for several moments until Prowl burst though the doors, panting. "Whuzzgoinon?" he gasped, placing his hands on his knees. "Whew. Hey, what's with you guys? What's this big emergency?"

"We got pinged," Optimus said faintly. "Primus almighty, some dirty 'Con _pinged us_!"

"That's new," Prowl said mildly, crossing the room to look at Elita's monitor. "Hey…what the slag is this?"

"It's a Transformer," Elita said breathlessly, her Spark churning in excitement. "A mech, according to the readout. They must've shocked our whole system, the alarms didn't even pick up any enemy movement."

"But…like you said, that void's way too small to hide anything major," Optimus said, his optics bright with worry. "It must be a small fleet, four or five strong. The system will only set off the alarm if it picks up some really bad aft energy waves." (Prowl smirked at Optimus's language; eh, the commander was young yet.)

"So whaddah we do?" Ironhide asked gruffly (they all jumped; when did _he_ get there?) "Send in some real heavy hittahs tah get th' job done?"

"Negative," Elita disagreed politely, and Optimus looked down at her.

"You have an alternative suggestion?" he questioned, cocking an optic ridge.

"Yup," she said bluntly. "The area in question is a dilapidated ruin now. It used to be a major air trade port, but after the first battle of the rebellion some mercenaries tore it apart on Megatron's request." Prowl and Optimus exchanged equally surprised looks; she was quite well informed. "Anyway, all of the buildings that once stood there are still in the process of breaking down into their original elements. If you try and put anyone too big through that, you'll make noise that'd make Primus's audio receptors ache. The Decepticons probably don't know we're aware of the interference; that was a pretty high rate bug, they won't be expecting us to crack it. I'd recommend sending in some smaller forces; you could go in with little mechs but still be almost twenty strong without alerting them to your presense."

Optimus nodded approvingly, and Prowl and Ironhide glanced at each other, their optics betraying the awe their faces so carefully hid. This femme was something else. Not only had she bluntly disregarded the battle plan of her superior officer, she'd thrown down a plan even Optimus would've had to think on for a little while. She was a recruit.

And every bit his equal.

"I agree with her," Optimus said firmly, straightening and turning to his comrades. "We're sending in small-sized mechs…" he trailed off slightly, his expression troubled. There weren't too many small mechs on base. Up until this point, brawn had been most desirable on the field. Most of the Autobots still clung to the idea of squashing the hopes of the rebellion forces by superiorly aggressive tactics, and that meant sending in some pretty bad aft mechs. A category that, most inconveniently, did not include anyone under thirty feet high.

"Sir?" Prowl suggested carefully. "Why not use femmes?"

A few jaws dropped, optics blazed in silent protest, but Optimus's lit up. "Prowl, what the slag would I do without you? Elita, Chromia—interested in a little field work?"

"Uh," Chromia replied.

"You bet your aft," Elita said, brightening considerably. "When do we leave?"

Optimus considered; she was a recruit. A brainy recruit, but a recruit all the same. Roughly his age. Still a recruit. But it had been a long time since he'd seen such determination, such impulsiveness, and he felt a pang of sadness; she was still so innocent. Why was she so eager to rush onto the battlefield?

Those scars would never fade.

"Prowl, you're going with them," Optimus ordered. "Find ten small mechs, ten femmes, including Elita and Chromia here. Lead them out to the designated point, keep your coms on. If you need backup, Ironhide, Ratchet and I will respond immediately. Disarm any resistance, and find out which one of them actually sent the bug. Bring him—or her, I suppose—back for further interrogation. Roll out."

"Yessir," Prowl replied, snapping his arm into a strict salute. "C'mon, you two, lots to do before said mission. We're rolling."

Elita and Chromia jumped quickly from their seats, somewhat stunned with the sudden turn of events. Basic training one day, actual combat the next. Civilians one second, soldiers the next. If Chromia was scared, she didn't show it; Elita, on the other hand, made no effort to contain her enthusiasm. Optimus watched her, slightly pained; this could very well be the last time she'd ever smile like that. Hesitating somewhat, he reached out and placed a hand upon her shoulder. She turned.

"Sir?"

"Not bad," he said, struggling on the words. "Spotting that void. Not bad at all, recruit."

She considered, sizing him up, then she drew herself up to her full height; she barely came up to his jaw line. Grinning, she met his optics confidently and said smugly, "It's Elita."

**That's it, Elita. Give it to him. Show him what girls are all about. **

**Uh, sorry if this chapter was slightly short. I'm not totally happy with it, seeing as it sounds just a tad immature…Optimus at a younger age is a very difficult character to write. I'll be looking forward to his maturity in this fic, as well as Elita's… hope you will too. Reviews much appreciated. **

Plenoptic


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three Plenoptic 

**Thanks for all of your spectacular reviews! All the suggestions are much appreciated…and it seems you're all rooting for miss Elita at this point. And more requests for a little more Ironhide action? My, my, aren't you all…erm…eager. In reply to one review, Ironhide and Chromia haven't technically met yet, but they've seen each other around. At this point…oh, can't exactly reveal too much. This fic mostly centers around Optimus and Elita, but Chromia and Ironhide will certainly have their fair share of "juicy" moments. Half of you seem to want Elita to kick some Decepticon aft, but some seem to want her in a situation that requires the jerking on her pride in the form of calling for (gasp) backup. Well, how much torture can one deranged author ensue? Only time will tell…**

**Enough with my babbling, though, let's roll out. Please enjoy, please review…in that order.**

**Designated void location**

**Cybertron, fourth sector**

**. B E G I N . T R A N S M I S S I O N .**

"…Who _is _that?" Prowl blurted as quietly as one can when very surprised. "He's only got one optic!"

"Ewwww, that's just creepy," Chromia muttered. "Weirdo. His creators must've been glitching or something. What do you think, Elita?"

"Uh, who cares? He's got only one optic, that means he can see you half as well," Elita replied. "All the easier to take him out. But…I'll bet you just about anything that he's the one who sent out that transmission."

"What makes you say?" Prowl asked, scooting closer to the femmes so as better to hear them.

"All he's got with him are drones," Elita muttered, lowering her head as one glanced in their direction. "That virus was super high-tech, I already told you. It would crash any normal drone's system."

"Doesn't it seem a bit too obvious, though?" Chromia asked softly. "The one mech in the whole bunch standing out in the open like that? If he really sent that transmission, he'd be hiding, wouldn't he?"

"The Decepticons weren't expecting us to clear that void," Elita said, for the fiftieth time that day. "They probably assumed we'd overlook it as a glitch. And…I guess anyone who hadn't been around computers would've. I don't think they hacked the systems via any technology in particular. I think they might've been using waves."

"How so?" Prowl asked with a groan.

"Radio waves or sound waves," Elita replied matter-of-factly. "I don't think they'd risk detection by jamming our computer frequencies. Only makes sense they'd sabotage the links with some kind of wave."

Prowl frowned slightly and turned on his com link, patiently waiting for headquarters to receive the call. Elita and Chromia fell silent, both watching the mysterious cyclops intently. "Ya got headquarters," Ironhide's gravely voice grumbled through the link. "Prowl, tha' you?"

"Yeah, it's me," Prowl replied, remembering to keep his tone hushed only just in time. "Ironhide…do we have any reports on a mech with only one optic? Possibly uses radio or sound waves."

"Hang on, lemme…aw, slag, not again…Prime, wha's the new password?…Huh? Wha? Ah, okay…alrigh', Prowl, let's see wha' we got here…gimme tha' description again."

"Paintjob's purple. Single optic, yellow in color. Wing like appendages on back. Approximately thirty two units high. No voice record as of yet, real quiet guy. Company includes drones. Wide berth, no visible weapons."

"…Sorry, bud, nothin' matches tha' description. Probably jus' anothah officah they've kept hidden."

"That's awfully convenient," Elita muttered. "Prowl, I think we need backup."

"Huh? Why?"

"He saw us."

Prowl peeked over the side of the collapsed building they'd been using as cover and felt his energon processor lurch. That one glowing yellow optic was turned in their direction, unmoving, unblinking. The three ducked down, equally panicked. This guy was not anything to joke about. He wasn't a glitch. Whoever the mech was, new player or not, he meant business.

"Slag," Elita muttered. "He's got, what, four or five drones with him? Shoulda counted, slaggit! Where's our nearest unit?"

"Springer and Jazz are close by, I'm sure of it," Prowl whispered. "But there's no way they'll make it to us before he does. Not that he's chosen to pursue—yet. I think we might just want to fall back for some time, make him think we've retreated. If he really saw us, he's going to be expecting trouble…"

He trailed off at the creak behind them. The pressure on their backs lessened as the mech lifted the building in one large hand, his systems whirring from the effort. One handed. He picked up that building—easily three times his size—and hurled it. It flew. _Flew_ through the air to collide with the ruins behind them.

"Introduction: I am Soundwave," the mech droned, his voice monotone. "Declaration: Autobots, prepare to be terminated."

**Autobot Base**

"…Prime…trans…ected…called…wave…up!"

"What?" Optimus said, confused as he stared at the radio console. "Ratchet, play it back! Decipher and play it back!"

Ratchet did as he was told, his fingers hammering the keypad relentlessly. For a moment, only static issued from the radio; then the transmission came through, Prowl's panicked voice making them all jump.

"Prime! The transmitter has been detected…it's a Decepticon called Soundwave! He's too much…we need back up!"

His following words were drowned out by the unmistakable sound of heavy gunfire, then the radio fell silent. Ironhide's optics were wide, and Ratchet's mouth hung open very slightly. Optimus felt the knife-edge of panic well within his Spark; he mentally stomped on it. Not the time to panic. Cool down. Keep your head on straight and your aft in gear.

"Ratchet. Assign inner circle units to the designated void coordinates. You and Jetfire stay here. You're on standby, got it?"

"Yes, sir," Ratchet replied, moving quickly from the command center, releasing the order over his com link. Ironhide grinned somewhat maniacally, allowing his arm cannons freedom from their containment chambers.

"Finally. 'Bout time Ah saw ah lil' action."

**Two units from designated void coordinates**

There was a reason only the best of the best made up Prime's inner circle. They were an elite strike force, the bells of destruction. Ironhide had almost as big a reputation as Prime; the trigger-happy lugnut had made one heck of a name for himself with his blow-em-ta-pieces antics. Wheeljack's cool head in battle was famous, his rare wild side even more so. Jazz was the loose cannon, the nutcase, the carefree soldier with the burns of a thousand battles. Ratchet was the unsociable yet faithful medic, who, rumor had it, had once reassembled a warrior who had gone in and out of a black hole. Prowl was the collected second in command, the only one Prime could truly turn to when in need of advice. He was one of the central driving forces in the military, Prime's ears and eyes whenever the commander wasn't present. He'd made appearances to the High Council, he'd gone on long recruiting missions around Cybertron, and didn't make a penny for any of it. But he was there all the same.

Then there was Optimus Prime. A young mech yet—only a few years out of his youngling stages—the commander, the hero, the prodigy. The heir apparent to Sentinel Prime, the creation of the revered Alpha Trion. He was his own tactician, his own battle strategist. He was a one mech wrecking unit, a one-mech bomb just waiting to go off. There had been issues in deciding whether or not the Matrix went to him; the government had resented it, the military had pushed for it. And, after some hard thought and Spark-searching, Optimus had pushed for it. He was ready. He was ready for whatever his brother had to throw at him. He wasn't going to run. So he'd become commander in short order. Charismatic, proper, calm, collected—the guy was a Pit-slagging femme magnet.

"This Soundwave guy sounds like a real pain in the aft," Wheeljack complained as their vehicle modes tore towards the ruins, dust rising behind them in long trails. "Prowl's sure he can't handle him?"

"Wheeljack, _he threw a building_," Ultra Magnus snapped irritably. "With _one hand_. This is one mech that needs some serious straightening out, and Prowl just can't do it alone."

"And," Ironhide added, "we've got fems ou' there. Can' leave th' gals ta fend fer themselves, aftah all."

"Though they're more than capable, you trigger-happy chauvinist," Magnus reprimanded.

"Converging on coordinates," Optimus reported, oblivious to his soldiers' squabbling. "Transform and get ready to roll out, we've got drones all over the place. Seems that our new friend called back up as well…"

"Drones," Wheeljack moaned, reverting to his humanoid mode along with his comrades. "I _hate_ drones. "

"Don' we all," Ironhide agreed somberly, but he was grinning and his cannons were out, humming and already releasing discharge. "Let's kick some aft."

So the battle raged. It was chaos, it was confusion; the ruins were both a cover and an obstacle, depending on whether one was the chaser or the chased. Standing still did no good either; there were too many places for a sniper to hide. So the only option was to run around and try not to get shot.

Funny, Elita thought she was pretty good at it. Drones couldn't see, really. They were programmed to detect the heat signatures of their opponents. And femmes, thank Primus, definitely didn't burn as much heat as mechs did. Most every drone she came into contact with simply stared at her, its systems humming as it tried to process what exactly it was seeing—then it had barely enough time to recognize that its head had been blown off.

"Nice shootin'!" Ironhide said, clearly impressed as she fired two shots, downing both drones in the process. "Where'd ya learn ta sling ah gun like tha'?"

"Uh, right here," she replied, panting very slightly. Okay, so it was her first time in combat. Her instructors at basic training had been, for some strange reason, nervous about putting a real gun in the hands of a raw recruit, and most of their training had been on simulation. Which was much easier than actually fighting. If you got shot in a simulation battle, you got points off your score. _Here_, you got pieces off your aft. _Here_, death was for keeps.

"Tha' Soundwave guy," Ironhide said seriously, turning so their backs were together to ensure three hundred sixty degree coverage, "he was the one who sent tha' transmission, righ'?"

"That's the idea," Elita replied. "He jammed our frequencies via sound waves, caused the void. I thought something was funny about it…"

"So we just gotta take 'im ou', righ'?"

"In theory. It won't do much good now that we've deleted the void, but we certainly don't want him to get away so he can try it again. Next time we might not catch it."

"_You_ caugh' it, recruit."

"…Well, yeah, but that was partly luck," she said, feeling her faceplates redden slightly.

"Hey, don' be embarrassed," he chuckled. "Not every day we get ah recruit tha's worth more'n slag. Guess we were the lucky ones, pickin' ya up."

"You're too kind."

"Ya, well, Ah'm pretty awesome like tha'."

Everything fell apart then. Soundwave released the self-destruct order. ("Command: Drones, self destruct.") In seconds the air was littered with the sound of twenty or so mini-bombs going off, with the cries of pain as they found their mark. Elita was shielded only by Ironhide's massive bulk as shards of flaming shrapnel exploded through the sky, debris raining down with dull clinks against their armor.

_The world spun. His optics blacked out, resurfaced momentarily, blacked out again. He felt dizzy, the pain in the left half of his body dulled by his sub-conscious state. Soundwave's borrowed fusion cannon crackled as if in satisfaction as the Autobot hit the ground, his vision swimming, the images blurry as his weakened mind struggled to make sense of them. He felt a hard foot press down on his injured left arm; he didn't have the strength to cry out. He found himself wishing desperately that Ratchet were there, not back at base. Primus, he was an idiot, telling the medic to stay behind… _idiot…_what good was a medic if he wasn't on the battlefield? Fool…_you fool, Prime…

_Only his ragged gasps of pain broke the silence. The drones had self-destructed. He'd been locked in combat with Soundwave at the time, but…no, he was sure they had self-destructed. They were gone…the battle was over…the relief washed over him, but the wave was ended as Soundwave's cruel voice whispered into his ear:_

"_Message: you will not live. Declaration: Lord Megatron is coming for you. He will not rest until you are terminated. Theory: you are going to die, Autobot."_

_The fusion cannon fired, its hum the toll of death. He didn't stay awake long enough to feel the pain. His mind shut down, his optics went offline._

_His energon pump stilled…_

"…Oh, Primus, no. Ironhide, come in. Ironhide!"

"Prowl? Wha' is it?"

"…It's Optimus."

**. E N D . T R A N S M I S S I O N .**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four (!)**

_Plenoptic_

**Well, here's chapter four…you honestly didn't think I'd let you hang like that, did you? Special treat for you this time around…for all of you who requested a certain "juicy" moment between a particular couple. And…Wow! Thank you all so much for all of the support you've given this story. I'm swamped with notices of y'all adding this story to your favorites list and what not…and even some who added me to their favorite authors list. I'm truly grateful…thank you all so much.**

**Also, I've been informed that I was, uh, misinformed. That I got my "Waves" mixed up?! (goes tearing through pages and pages of notes) Uh, I guess that's right…okay, so, for all intents and purposes, I've smashed together Soundwave and Shockwave. So Soundwave is still Soundwave but he only looks like Shockwave (just bear with me, okay?). Can he please keep the monotone? I'll simply not use the character of Shockwave to avoid further confusion.**

**Another case of misinformation…I mixed up the twins? Sorry…thankfully this error is much more correctible. From here on out, Sunstreaker is once again the psycho and Sideswipe is once again the prankster…thanks to the person who spotted that one. **

**I'm honestly too lazy to go back and edit out these mistakes…and it would require a lot of rewriting.**

**I left you with a cliffhanger, now I'm pushing you right off the edge. Please enjoy, please review, in that order.**

. **B E G I N . T R A N S M I S S I O N .**

The med bay door slammed in their faces.

"Ratchet!" Ironhide wailed, pounding the door with his fist. "Hold on ah sec! Nooooo…"

"Well, you know what he's like when he's got a patient in crit," Prowl sighed, leaning against the wall and sliding his butt to the floor. "Slag it all to Pit…why did this have to happen now? That mission was supposed to go okay…we weren't supposed to need backup…Primus almighty…"

"We can't plan for it," Jazz said, his rare moment of sincerity causing all heads to turn. "We can't just plan it all out, compadre. Stuff happens. People get hurt. I don't think Optimus is mad or anything…he understands that. Well, he wouldn't be mad if he was conscious, but since he's practically in stasis lock I don't think you need to worry about it."

"Funny, that _almost_ made me feel better," Prowl sighed, dropping his chin back to his chest. "And what the Pit does _compadre_ mean?"

"I picked it up off some earth junk. Wanna hear?"

"No, no I don't."

"Ya don't know what you're missing," Jazz chirped, and turned it on anyway.

Elita wrapped her arms around her abdomen, shifting nervously from foot to foot, her optics sealed on the med bay door. Primus, what a disaster. There went her first mission. _Poof. _She had one chance—_one—_to prove she was good for something, and she'd nearly gotten the commander killed.

"Look, now's not th' time ta beat yerself up," Ironhide sighed, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Ya tried. Ya kicked some serious aft ou' there, Ah was watchin, remembah? Ya did good, recruit. Ya did real good."

"…If he dies…" she whispered shakily.

"He won't," Prowl cut in. "You can't kill that idiot so easily. Optimus is good at pretty much everything but dying. And Ratchet is good at pretty much everything except letting people die. Put them together and you've got one very lively commander."

Elita blinked during the silence that followed. "That…that's actually reassuring."

Prowl laughed. "Yup. You can relax, kid. Optimus ain't gonna keel over any time soon."

"You had better hope not," Ratchet growled, kicking the door open and storming from his med bay. "Sit," he added dangerously as Prowl jumped to his feet. "I'm not done. You stay out of there, you hear me? I just need to lubricate, I'll be back in a second…"

"Hold up," Ironhide cut in, grabbing the medic's shoulder. "Is he…?"

Ratchet shook his hand off irritably. "I don't know, okay?" He sighed and lowered his head, and his tone softened. "I just…I really don't know."

And with that, he left to take care of his business.

_**Med bay**_

_Slag it._

_How?_

_How'd…how'd he sneak up on me? Slag it all to Pit…get up, Prime, get up! There's a time to surrender. There's a time to give up. It's not now. Get up…_

_Get up…_

"You're a stubborn one," he heard Ratchet snort. "Half dead and already trying to get yourself back online…you need to rest, Optimus. Leave everything to us, okay?"

_Get up, ya stupid fragger…if you die here…if you keel over now… What kind of Pit-spawn commander does that make you?_

Ratchet sighed as Prime's cerebral readings spiked nearly off the scale. He really _was_ determined, wasn't he? Probably ashamed, too…ashamed to be the only one out of the game. The fact that he was on the brink of death meant nothing. The fact that half of his armor had been stripped away, that his right arm was dysfunctional, that his main energon line had been severed, meant nothing. He was out of the game…and ashamed of it.

"That Soundwave fellow's truly a monster," Ratchet murmured, steeping his fingers as he watched the vitals calm. "Second only to Megatron, I'd guess. What to do now…what to do…" he sighed and leaned back, drumming his fingers thoughtfully on his desk. They were vulnerable. Their commander was down and out—for the time being. They'd been taken off guard, and their systems were obviously susceptible to attack. Ratchet frowned; the odds were undoubtedly against them.

Then there was that conversation he'd downloaded from Optimus's memory banks. The last words the commander had heard before he'd blacked out.

"_Theory: you are going to die, Autobot."_

_What a thing to go offline to_, Ratchet thought sympathetically. To black out without hope, fully expecting death…the medic made it a priority to make sure his patients went under hearing words of reassurance… he felt a pang of guilt. He hadn't been there to tell Prime it would be okay. The young mech had gone down scared, alone, though maybe not in pain…no, undoubtedly in pain, unless by some miracle that part of his cerebral processor had gone offline. The medic sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nasal ridge. Here came that migraine again.

His optic ridges pulled together as he recalled the rest of the conversation. _Lord Megatron is coming for you. He will not rest until you are terminated._ To say a thing like that, make Prime think it was Megatron who was going to do him in, then shoot that fraggin' fusion cannon…Ratchet got to his feet and walked around his desk to bend over at Optimus's side. The young commander moaned as gentle hands ran the length of his wounds. Ratchet frowned; no vital structures, save for the energon line, had been damaged. Soundwave had intentionally kept the commander alive…

For Megatron to finish the job later.

Ratchet shuddered. In the corner, a monitor beeped monotonously, and Optimus stirred. The drugs were wearing off…his consciousness came slowly back, along with the sharp, burning pain in his side…

"Hey," he heard Ratchet say softly. "I'm sorry. I should've argued when you told me to stay behind. I should've gone with you…I'm sorry."

"…Ratchet…"

The medic's head snapped up; Optimus's optics flickered on and offline as he struggled back into consciousness, slipped back down, tried to bring himself back…his systems groaned and whirred almost resentfully. _Soundwave, you Pit-spawn,_ Ratchet thought savagely as a soft cry of pain escaped his patient's lips. He got heavily to his feet and moved back to his table, filling a syringe with the pain suppressants.

"You're fortunate," he commented quietly. "If Prowl hadn't found you when he did, you'd be on the scrap heap now. Of course, there's the issue of your main energon line…that'll take time to heal back up. And your armor's melted into your internal wiring, that's not going to be fun to fix. _And_ I suppose I'll have to completely rewire your left arm, it's completely dysfunctional…"

"Yeah, lucky me," Optimus grunted. He gasped as the pain intensified. "Ratchet…it hurts."

Ratchet felt a pang at the childishness in his commander's voice. There was no more strength. There was no more gritting his teeth and enduring. Optimus was tired. He was hurt. Slag it all, he had one more bad aft Decepticon to worry about. And his only haven was a grumpy mech. With a very sharp-looking syringe.

The Pit he was gonna act like a hero now.

Ratchet injected the suppressants delicately into Optimus's neck wiring, his Spark clenching uncomfortably. He'd overheard Prowl talking in the hallway, and agreed with the second in command completely. This wasn't supposed to happen. Optimus hadn't done anything to deserve it. With a sigh, he ran gentle fingers down the side of his commander's face.

"I know it hurts," he said softly. "I know. Rest now, Optimus. You've done enough."

**_Outside _**

"This basically sucks," Chromia said loudly. "This really sucks. This is a nightmare. Why…why would Primus let it happen?"

"Sometimes Primus ain't fair," Ironhide replied quietly. They were the only ones left in the hallway. Prowl had stormed away hours ago, the intensity weighing too heavily on his Spark; Elita had been called off for her shift. Which left one crabby, trigger-happy mech with one depressed femme.

Hey, a cute femme all the same, he figured. With a sigh he sank down onto the floor next to her. She blinked and looked over at him. Up until now the accent had been rather annoying; but now it almost seemed…Pit, it was almost _cute. _"You're…Ironhide?"

"An' yer Chromia," he said, flashing her a grin. "Victim…wha', five hun'red some? Wha're ya doin' here, kid? This ain't no place fer a femme."

"It's as much a place for a femme as it is for a mech," she said stiffly. "And…I dunno. What _am_ I doing here? I guess…I just needed to be _somewhere,_ you know?"

He glanced over at her. Her head was bowed slightly, her optics distant. He sighed. There was a lot of pain in those eyes. "Yea. Ah know whatcha mean…where'd ya get th' idea ta enlist?"

She inhaled deeply and rested her head against his shoulder. It startled him slightly—weird thing for a complete stranger to do—but he found, to his own surprise, that he wasn't bothered by it. "I'm from Iacon, you know. Third division."

His jaw dropped slightly. "Th' third? But…"

"Yeah," she said, smiling bitterly. "The one that got raided a few months ago. The Decepticons totally took out my half of the sector…by the time the military got there, it was almost too late. After the raid…before the bodies were moved…I decided to be an idiot and went outside. There was a soldier practically on my doorstep. He was dying. I knew there was nothing I could do about it, I was ready to go back inside and hide until it was all over…but then he talked to me. He said his name was Chasm, that he was a new recruit. The poor guy was beating himself up…he felt so bad about letting down his commanding officer. So he asked me to go in for him…_make up the difference_, he begged. He pleaded with me to go into the military, to stop something like that from happening again…I agreed, and he died."

Ironhide blinked, stunned. She scooted away hurriedly, embarrassed by her position. "Sorry…I didn't mean to…"

He reached out wordlessly and took her hand, his optics somber. "Musta been hard," he said softly, squeezing her fingers gently. "Must be hard now. Chasm…wasn' tha' th' name of Elita's friend?"

Chromia nodded slowly. "I…I haven't told her yet. On one of our first days here, she told me she was hoping to see her friend around, hoping to see Chasm around…and even though I'd seen him die, I couldn't tell her. I couldn't do that to her…is that wrong of me?"

"It's okay," Ironhide said quietly. "She's happier not knowin'…it's okay. 'Sides…she's got enough ta worry 'bout with Optimus…ya know…"

Chromia giggled. "She's in _denial,_ you know. Primus, she loves that mech. Oh yeah…but don't tell her I know."

Ironhide smiled. "Wouln' dream of it."

**_Elsewhere..._**

After her first few days on base Elita had discovered the roof. It had been an accident, really; she'd gotten lost on the way back from sentry duty at the front gates and had stumbled upon a staircase behind a door she could've sworn led to the recruit dorms. And thus she'd found the roof. It was her only safe haven, the only place she could be alone and think. Evenings were particularly spectacular; as their side of Cybertron turned away from the sun, the moons rose one either side of the sky, pale white orbs against the fiery horizon. It was a good place to think when thinking needed to be done.

And that night, as she clambered clumsily through the open panel, she was fully expecting to do some serious thinking.

Primus, that mech was a living nightmare. She couldn't piece it together; she'd sworn to herself to draw her Spark away from him, make him just a part of the background, another issuer of orders that needed to be followed. But if he meant that little to her, why had it torn her apart? Why had the sight of Prowl kneeling by her bleeding, dying commander ripped her Spark in two? Why had the sound of his gasping moans of pain reduced her nearly to tears?

Which was the best name for that feeling in her Spark: love or indifference?

And of course, on that particular night, Primus saw fit to put the one mech on the roof who could only complicate her feelings even more. She almost didn't recognize him; his right arm hung limp and useless at his side, emitting sparks and cracking when he tried to move. The armor at his side had been either melted or ripped away entirely, and his main energon line was visible, bleeding slightly as he moved. His warped, burnt chest heaved as he struggled for each shaky breath, his injured body creaking.

"Optimus," she said quietly, and his head turned slowly. "Sir…you should be resting."

"…I know."

She rolled her optics and strode across the roof to take a seat next to him. "Snuck away, did you?"

He laughed weakly. "Yeah. Ratchet's scary when he's got a syringe in his hand. I thought he was gonna kill me."

He inhaled sharply as she reached out and placed a tentative hand against his side. His energon seeped between her fingers; she swallowed hard, his weak gasps tearing at her Spark. "You need to go back to the med bay, Commander. You're injured…"

"I know Pit-slagging well that I'm injured," he growled. "But if that fragger Megatron thinks that's going to keep me down…he's wrong…"

She drew her hand away and brought her knees to her chest, lowering her head. It was official; she was confused. She hated seeing him like this. Each gasp, each groan, stabbed a cold knife through her Spark. He shouldn't mean any more to her than he did to the next recruit.

But he _did._

He meant much more to her.

"Hey," he said gently, lifting his right arm with a wince and placing his hand on her shoulder. "It's okay. You were amazing out there, you know. I've never seen anyone but Ironhide handle a gun like that…it was incredible."

"…Yeah?"

"Yup," he replied, and the smile reached his optics easily. "You could be an officer in a few weeks if you really put your mind to it."

She scowled. "I _do_ have my mind 'put to it.' That's all I'm thinking about. I'm useless as a recruit. I'm no good for anything or anyone. I joined the military to make a difference…and so far I haven't changed a thing."

"So what did you call _that_?" he demanded, and when she blinked at him, her optics clueless, he sighed heavily. "I mean catching that void. There's no way anyone else would've spotted that. And _then_ where would we be? That fragger Soundwave could've penetrated our files, he could've uploaded all of our data into his hard drive, and then it'd go straight to Megatron. You did well, Elita. You did really well."

She looked over at him, praying her face wouldn't betray the frantic pulsing of her Spark. "Sir…why do you wear a mask?"

He blinked, startled, and touched his mouthplate. "What, this? Simple. Fems _dig_ the mask."

"…Oh."

"No, wait, I was kidding," he laughed. Then his tone softened, his optics betraying the dark feelings that clutched his Spark. "I'm not ready to admit even to myself why I wear it…and even less ready to admit it to a gorgeous femme I've just met."

She snorted. "Flattery doesn't work on me."

"Slag," he sighed. "Oh, well, tomorrow's another day. If I live that long," he added, wincing and touching his side tenderly. "I really should get back to the med bay…"

"Want me to walk you back?"

"I think I can make it, thanks. It's late, you recruits should be in recharge by now."

"So should you commanders."

"Touché," he grunted, struggling to get to his feet.

Elita sighed and stood, reaching a hand down to him. He blinked, obviously confused. "You're supposed to take my hand, idiot," she said gently, smiling. "If you're not going to let me escort you to the med bay, at least let me help you up." He hesitated, and she rolled her optics. "C'mon, I promise not to bite more than once."

He gazed at her warily, but then his optics softened and he clasped her hand tightly. "Much appreciated."

He gasped weakly as she helped him up; Elita caught him as he staggered slightly. "You're bleeding," she said softly, pressing a hand against the wounds in his chest. "Optimus…let me walk you back."

"I'm fine," he panted, pulling away. "Thank you, though. I'll be okay…no doubt Ironhide or Prowl will intercept me anyway." She shrugged and nodded offhandedly, but there was a trace of hurt in her optics. He lingered, feeling he should say something more…but for some reason, the words wouldn't come. She turned her beautiful face towards the horizon, the setting sun casting its fading light against her armor. On impulse alone he reached out to her and ran the backs of his fingers lightly across her cheek.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, though he wasn't sure what he was apologizing for.

**. E N D . T R A N S M I S S I O N .**

**And the relationship finally begins to heat up...is it time for Optimus to begin sorting out his own feelings?**

**By the way...how do you pronounce the word "femme"?**

_Plenoptic_


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

_ Plenoptic_

**Wow, is this story losing popularity already or what? What happened to that hailstorm of reviews my ego has become so nauseatingly fond of? No, I'm kidding… the reviews I did get for Chapter Four were fantastic, so thank you all very much for contributing to this budding romance. Optimus and Elita appreciate it…well, deep down.**

**One comment was made concerning Jazz's reference to earth music. Said reviewer stated that in the time line in which this fic takes place, the Autobots are not yet aware of earth…and after about five seconds of dope-slapping myself I completely agree. So, for the sake of this fic, let's edit out the term "earth junk" in there and replace it with "Espana nebula junk". For those of you who aren't familiar with the insane, universe-bending patterns of my warped mind, we'll call the Espana nebula a small planet that has a shocking resemblance to Spain, whose inhabitants all speak a language that is shockingly similar to Spanish. And that's pronounced "Espan-ya." This writing program doesn't have the little curvy doohickey above the N. So the Espana nebula it is.**

**In other words, I just have poor planning. **

**Thanks for the comments about The Roof Scene…I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. It's so much fun to play with Optimus's emotions. **

**Yes, I am terrible, aren't I? Anyway, let's move on. Sorry this chapter wasso long in coming. Please enjoy, please review, in that order.**

. B E G I N . T R A N S M I S S I O N .

Time passed as only time could.

It was shocking how fast one recruit can find herself adjusting to such an alien environment as a military base. It's really shocking how fast one recruit becomes so adjusted that she shoots up into the officer ranks before anyone can take a second glance at her beautiful face.

Oh yes, Elita was moving up fast. Her discovery of the void had raised a few interested optic ridges. Her incredible performance against the drones in the ruins had blown many back on their aft ends. The femme was something else—and easy on the optics, too. Aside from the attention she drew from her commanding officers, many mechs her own rank (and below) had taken a particular interest in the new femme. And half of them weren't really bad guys; the only thing that disappointed her was that many of them seemed to think that her friendly smile meant "Hello, please interface with me." Many of _those_ wound up with her knee between their legs. Elita developed a fast reputation as a femme who didn't like men, period.

But there wasn't a mech on base who didn't believe he could win her over.

They were wrong. She was sure of it. After feeling Optimus Prime's gentle touch, every other mech on the slagging base was cast to the very back of her mind. She cared nothing for the stupid, personality-lacking mechs who were just looking to win a challenge with a femme who couldn't be beat. She wasn't sure what to call it—she still refused to call that strange tugging on her Spark "love."

But it was pretty fragging close.

**_Several weeks following the incident…_**

"Recruit, you're gonna have some trouble hitting the target like that."

"Huh? Why's that, Sergeant?"

"You've got the barrel pointing at your face," Elita said brightly, taking the gun and flipping it around before handing it back to the unfortunate grunt. "Ratchet wouldn't appreciate it if you blew your head off."

The recruit nodded so fast she momentarily feared that his neck cords would snap, but he quickly decided that so much head movement when one is trying to aim a gun is not very beneficial. She grinned as he sank a perfect shot into the drone. So the drone was non-mobile. It was still a beautiful shot.

"Not bad, recruit," she said brightly, a small twinge of nostalgia tugging at the back of her mind. It hadn't been long ago Ironhide and Optimus had complimented her the same way. "Next time we run into a sleeping Decepticon you'll be the first mech on the job."

The recruit blushed very slightly at the praise from his beautiful instructor. "Th-Thank you, Sergeant."

She moved away against the wall to give the potentially dangerous grunts space to fire at will. She felt mildly impressed with this batch; at least no one had shot a neighbor in the groin like last time. Elita felt she ought to have grimaced at the memory; instead she laughed.

_Primus almighty, I need help,_ she thought, shaking her head. It wasn't such a bad thing on the field. Shooting an opponent in the groin was positively smiled upon by Ironhide's standards. But the scene had been pretty traumatic in the shooting range. One recruit sobbing apologies to no one in particular, Ratchet swearing loudly, another wailing about the pain in his…yeah, well, _that._ _Interface appliance,_ Elita told herself firmly, smirking at the thought of Ironhide's more vulgar definition. _Interface appliance._

"Having fun?" Optimus Prime's quiet voice asked from behind her, as his giant hand came to rest upon her shoulder.

She smiled and turned. "Commander! Glad to see you back on your feet. Healing up okay?"

"Ratchet's a miracle worker," Prime sighed, leaning against the wall at her side. "Spawn of Primus."

"Right up there with Prowl, eh?"

"Indeed."

"Hey, you there!" she snapped at a recruit who had frozen in mid trigger-pulling to ogle at the Autobot leader. "If you're not gonna look when you shoot, get your finger off the slaggin' trigger! That's how people lose interface appliances, you know!"

The grunt blushed brightly, snapped from his reverie, and turned quickly back to his drone. Optimus chuckled and Elita grinned, pleased with herself.

"Shall I even ask?" he questioned, his smile bemused.

"It's probably better for your sanity if you don't," she replied, turning her head to look up at him. The light that seemed to shine upon him hadn't faded in the weeks he'd been out of action; if anything, it shone twice as brightly. He'd been to the brink of death and back. Surely that deserved a little bit of glory…

"What?" he asked somewhat nervously, noticing her optics upon him.

She started and looked away quickly, her faceplates reddening ever so slightly. "N-Nothing, nothing at all…I was just thinking, is all…"

"…I see."

She frowned slightly as he winced and placed a tentative hand against his right side; he jumped slightly at her hand upon his arm.

"Does it still hurt?" she asked sincerely, her optics oddly bright.

He was immediately glad for his mask; he could feel his faceplates reddening fast. "Um…no, not really. Just…stiff, that's all. Yeah, that's it."

She shrugged and pulled away; he mentally kicked himself when he found himself subtly wishing she wouldn't let go. "Whatever. If it hurts, just go to Ratchet. That's all."

"I'll try to keep that in mind," he said dryly, scowling. "Thanks so much for your advice."

She glanced over at him, and after a moment a small smile tugged at her lips. His expression gentled, and he patted her cheek somewhat affectionately before turning on his heel and departing the shooting range, whistling tunelessly.

**_Early morning_**

The light came in slowly, its golden rays pervading his vision as his consciousness came floating back to him. He squinted slightly in the bright light. He'd been dreaming, he was sure of it. What about, he couldn't be certain…though he had an idea…with a sigh he rolled over.

And his Spark nearly extinguished right then and there.

"Good morning."

"…AAAAAARGH!"

"You're certainly _loud_ for this hour. I had no idea you wake up so early. No _wonder_ you're so tired all the time. One of your stature should surely take a break and sleep in every once in a while."

"RATCHET! WHAT THE PIT ARE YOU DOING IN MY ROOM?!"

"Watching you sleep, why?"

"…OH PRIMUS. OH PRIMUS OH PRIMUS OH—"

"Oh _hush,_ I don't mean it like that. Elita informed me you seemed to be in pain yesterday and I was merely observing your vitals while you were in recharge…"

"WHY NOT DO IT WHILE I'M AWAKE?!"

"Because you curiously seem to avoid my med bay nowadays. It's rather irksome, I _do_ have routine systems checks to run, you know."

Optimus groaned and rolled back over, dropping his head to the steel surface. "So _you come into my room?_ In the Pit-slagging dead of night? This is just wonderful, just great…next I suppose I'll wake up and fragging Prowl is gonna be in bed with me…"

"Oh, did you know there are some rather nasty rumors about the relationship between you two?" Ratchet asked brightly, then laughed. "Oh, look, your internal temperature just increased by several hundred Kelvin…interesting that mention of Prowl sparks such a reaction, Commander. Anything you'd like to tell me?"

Optimus glanced over at his medic with wary optics. Ratchet looked amused; okay, so at least the Prowl comment had been a joke. Maybe. With a sigh, the young commander rolled over and sat up wearily.

"I need help," he said miserably.

"I could've told you that," Ratchet said, leaning back in Optimus's desk chair as though preparing himself for a counseling session. Which he was. "What's on your mind, young one?"

Optimus inhaled deeply, preparing his pride for the blow. He felt like a youngling. He wasn't full grown yet, but…did that really give him any excuse to go running to his seniors like a child every time something went slightly off kilter? Maybe it would be better to handle this alone…take a leap of faith, some would say…

"Optimus," Ratchet said gently, seeing the hesitation in his young friend's optics. "We are alone. No one is going to see this. No one is going to hear. Whatever you need to say, you may. I will not criticize you, I give you my word."

Prime folded his arms over his chest, sizing up the medical officer carefully. When Ratchet met his gaze confidently, the commander deflated slightly with a loud sigh. "Okay. This is _not_ to leave this room, you hear me? That's an order."

"My shift does not start for approximately two hours. Until then, I will heed no orders from one whose mind is still plagued with ridiculously imbalanced chemical reactions, causing malfunctions and irresponsible behavior. I will, however, agree to harbor a secret for my friend."

Optimus rolled his optics. "Like I said. It never leaves this room."

"Agreed."

"…Ratchet."

"Optimus?"

"What do you know about femmes?"

Ratchet blinked. The question was stated so firmly, without hesitation. Optimus's optics were ablaze, the expression on his bare face set and determined. The scenario was so cliché that Ratchet could not restrain his laughter. The adolescent going to his parental figure for help with the ladies. How classic.

"Well, I'm never asking you for help again," Optimus snorted, scooting around on his aft so his back faced the medic. "If all you're going to do is laugh you can go ahead and leave. Don't slam the door behind you."

"No…no, wait," Ratchet managed between small fits of giggles. "Don't shun me just yet, young one, I was just…oh, Primus, that was so funny! Your face…you were so serious, I just…!"

"Glad you find my face so amusing, Ratchet," Prime said hotly, scowling over his shoulder.

"You're so immature," Ratchet chuckled, gaining control of himself. "You're young yet, Optimus, it's only natural for you to wonder about these things. And I'm honored that you came to me for such advice."

"Who do you suggest I'd have go to instead? Ironhide? Jazz?"

"Okay, so I'm the only logical one to ask. But since when have you ever been logical?"

"…Don't slam the door on your way out."

"No, wait, don't boot me out just yet! I'll tell you, I'll tell you…ah…" Ratchet leaned back in the chair, smiling. Optimus snuck a glance over his shoulder, but looked away quickly upon seeing the medic's gaze upon him. "Alright, my delightful young protégé, here's the thing about femmes," Ratchet said, leaning forward and placing his hands upon his knees. "Are you taking notes on this? Listen up well, Prime, I'm only going to say this once…"

_**Command Center**_

"No further voids have been detected since the incident a few weeks ago. And the Decepticons seem quiet. Megatron appears to be plotting…or has dug himself into a financial glitch."

"I'm leaning on the former," Prowl said, frowning slightly. "If anything, his silence is only proof that we need to be on our guard. He's probably stinging from that last battle back at the ruins."

"But we lost that battle," Elita said, lifting an optic ridge.

"Yeah, but we found him out," Optimus said smugly, leaning up against the back of her chair to better examine the map on her monitor. "Megatron is now well aware that this Soundwave fellow isn't impervious to detection."

"He's pretty slagging close," Elita said seriously. "My noticing that void was just luck, okay? I can't guarantee I'll spot it next time."

"Well, you've got a better chance than any of us," Optimus said, the smile lighting up his optics as he gestured toward Prowl, Ironhide, and Jazz.

"Ay, Ah resent tha' comment," Ironhide said, scowling darkly. "Ah can work ah computah jus' as well as any femme…"

"The Pit you can," Jazz snorted critically, his head bobbing up and down to the music issuing softly from his speakers. "Ya couldn't even undo a simple quantum virus, ya lugnut."

"Wha'd ya jus' call me, runt?"

"What'd you just call _me_?"

"I'll scrap you both if you don't shut up," Optimus snapped before turning back to the monitor. "But nothing suspicious so far, huh?"

"Nah. Unless they've totally overridden our system, all's quiet."

The world exploded. It literally erupted into fire and noise and pain. The southern wall of the command center bent and blew inwards. Ironhide and Jazz collapsed immediately, the full force of the shockwave taking them in the chassis. Prowl, on sheer instinct alone, ducked to his knees and held his hands to his audio receptors as the shriek of the explosion bore down upon them. Elita felt strong arms encase her as the inferno hit, felt a heavy body fall on her as they hit the ground. Under different circumstances she would have very much enjoyed the closeness to her commander, but given the present situation it was all she could do to not lose consciousness.

The debris rained down gently upon their backs. Optimus moaned weakly as Elita slid carefully out from under him and rolled him gently onto his back. A subtle trickle of energon leaked from his nearly healed side; swallowing hard, she pressed a hand to his wound, and with the other caressed his face.

"Optimus," she murmured urgently. "Optimus, can you hear me?"

"…I hear you," he mumbled distantly, stirring lightly. "Ungh…"

"It's okay, don't move," she soothed gently. "You'll only worsen the bleeding. Just hang on for a second, I need to check on the others…"

She jumped and turned, startled by the series of clicks issuing from the towering mech now standing in the massive hole in the command center. Hard red optics fixed upon her eerily, the bot's face twisting into an expression of triumph. And he was laughing, his voice processor emitting high, fast clicks as his large frame shook lightly. Sudden, icy fear clenched her Spark as she gazed upon him, as his red optics locked upon her face. She felt Optimus's fingers wrap around hers; she returned his grip, sensing his fear.

The ominous mech suddenly buckled as an energon charge struck him squarely against the shoulder. Snarling and clutching his fresh injury, he turned his cold gaze upon his assailant.

"Scram, Megatron," Prowl said dangerously, lowering his firearm enough to meet the warlord's optics. "You're not welcome here."

Megatron smirked only slightly and pulled his fusion cannon from subspace. Prowl grimaced and turned his head away as the trigger was pulled, and nanoseconds later found only complete darkness. "I'm not welcome here," Megatron said tauntingly, laughing. "How little it surprises me."

He'd taken only one step towards Elita and her fallen commander when he was once again interrupted, this time by Ironhide lifting a hand to grab the warlord's leg.

"No…" the weapons officer gasped weakly, struggling to lift his head. "No…"

Megatron smirked and lifted his free foot to press down hard upon Ironhide's arm. The Autobot cried out as the pressure increased, energon beginning to pulse gently from beneath his armor as his circuits were severed.

"Such heroic nonsense," Megatron snorted, lifting his foot away but kicking the weakened mech across the head. "You should have seen this coming, Autobots. You should've known I would come. Did you really think I'd let your little trick with my void go unrequited? No, you made a fool out of me…now I shall return the favor."

Elita wanted so badly to move. She wanted so badly to pull her firearm from subspace and blast the slag out of the Pit-spawn. But she couldn't. Her joints seemed frozen, her Spark ached with terror. This was Megatron. And she, a femme, a sergeant, was no match for Megatron…

Was she?

Before she could contemplate her dilemma any further the Decepticon abruptly turned his icy gaze to her. "The Ellipses program," he said coldly. "You will turn it over now."

"…_Huh_?" she said blankly, too surprised to be scared.

He drew back his lips into a snarl, and she recoiled slightly. She felt Optimus's fingers clench hers as he struggled to lift himself. "The Ellipses program," Megatron repeated, his voice low and dangerous. "You will tell me where the data is located, femme."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said truthfully. Not that she would tell him even if she did know. "Go look somewhere else, just get the Pit out of here."

His red optics narrowed into hard, glaring slits. "I will ask once more, Autobot. _Where is the data for the Ellipses program?_"

"I. Don't. Know," she said clearly, her Spark racing. "I've never heard of anything like it."

He released a slow hiss, approaching her in long, graceful strides. Within five steps he was upon her, his icy claw-like hand tilting her chin upwards. "It is the time-stop program," he breathed, his optics alive with hunger. "It is the most brilliant hardware ever developed. And our sources tracked it _straight to you._ So you will tell me where it is!"

"…Megatron. She…she doesn't know," Optimus said weakly, and both Megatron and Elita (with some difficulty) turned their gazes to the Autobot commander. "Believe her, brother…there's nothing like that…here…"

Megatron released Elita slowly and pushed her away, crouching in front of the injured mech. Optimus moaned as Megatron grabbed him by the throat, forcing him into a more upright position.

"You say that," the warlord snarled, his face mere inches from Optimus's. "But how am I to know you are not shielding it from me?"

"I haven't…even the foggiest…idea…what you're even…_talking_ about," Prime gasped, glaring at Megatron defiantly. "Whatever you're looking for…it's not here…"

The Decepticon's optics narrowed, and he leveled his fusion cannon with Optimus's face, his finger hovering threateningly over the trigger. "You're a fool, big brother. That program is here. Trion put it here personally. And I know you are aware of its location, so if you value your life you will tell me all that you know!"

"I know nothing," Optimus said quietly, his voice becoming stronger. "And I care little for my life. Living is trivial if you've no one to experience it with. Since you crossed over, little brother…I've had only meager reasons to live. Kill me if you wish. It makes no difference anymore…"

Elita felt the sob rise in her throat. To think that Optimus Prime—the charismatic commander so adored by nearly all of Cybertron's civilian peoples, so respected by his loyal soldiers—believed he had no one with which to enjoy his life. And in that moment, as Prime's gaze dropped from his brother's face to meet hers, she found she wanted nothing more than to be his reason. His reason for existing, his reason for believing…

His reason for loving.

He had to see it. He had to be shown just how much he meant…to the Autobots, to Cybertron…to her. She got shakily to her feet, painfully aware of Megatron tensing as he sensed her movement.

"Fine," she said coldly, and his head turned. "You want the Ellipses program? Drop him and you can have it. It's yours. Just put him down."

A slow grin stretched Megatron's lips as he promptly dropped the injured commander to the ground. Then, almost as an afterthought, he drew his foot upward and dug his heel hard into Optimus's side. Prime cried out in pain as the claws of Megatron's feet gouged deep into his old wounds.

"Stop it!" Elita blurted, her leader's cries tearing her Spark in two. "Enough! You'll get the program, just…just stop it, you're hurting him!"

Smirking, Megatron obliged, lifting his claw from his victim's side with a sickening squelch. Optimus fell limp, his chest heaving and his optics fading on and offline. Fresh energon poured from the reopened wound, pooling around his trembling body. He lifted his head slightly, just enough to throw Elita a questioning look.

She swallowed. Yeah, she was bluffing. She had no slagging idea what this Ellipses program was, but she was quite sure she did not have it. But Megatron didn't know that. And that was all she needed.

"The data," Megatron snarled, his optics narrowing. "Where is it?"

Elita inhaled deeply, her thoughts racing—she needed a cover up, anything to keep him here, keep him from returning to his brutal torture of the subconscious commander at his feet. Prime, moaning, managed to lift himself on his elbows slightly, though the strain put on his side was agonizing. Panting for breath, he lifted his gaze to meet Elita's. His optics spoke only one desperate word:

_Run._

. E N D . T R A N S M I S S I O N .

**It just wasn't a TF fic until Megatron made an appearance, and he was four chapters overdue. So welcome back, Megs. Now prepare to have Elita whoop your aft. Maybe? Stay tuned. Please enjoy, please review, in that order.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

_Plenoptic _

**So now is the time for Elita to face Megatron…with Optimus's life on the line. Again. What can I say, the guy attracts as many dangers as he does femmes. Sorry these chapters have taken so long, I blame my tedious work schedule. So many tests, so little time…but my grades are up so it's time for some serious posting!**

**I have recently noticed that this story has no real plot. It is very much just the story of two would-be heroes, how they come to understand each other…and how they begin to fall in love. I think that's okay. Optimus needs a break from the "focus on saving the world." However, plot twists will keep coming up…such as the one at the end of this chapter. Oh, but don't you dare look ahead, it'll ruin it!**

. B E G I N . T R A N S M I S S I O N .

She ran.

At one glance, Optimus instilled in her the only logical thing to do when you're out of excuses. So she ran. She turned on her heel and took off, leaving a stunned Megatron several paces behind before he regained his senses and took off in pursuit. He didn't get far. Apparently the badly wounded commander at his feet had problems with him dismantling his sergeant.

Elita winced and almost turned back as Optimus's agonized cry echoed in the hallway. She knew she was being a coward. Running like a sparkling, while her commander bled so she could do so. Not to mention she was leaving injured comrades behind. Ironhide, Prowl, Jazz…all victims of Megatron's newest assault, left to die at the brutal bot's hands.

Yet she didn't dare slow her pace. She wasn't ready to face him. Not Megatron. He was too much for someone of her skill, of her experience, to handle…far too much. She'd be annihilated. And he'd move on to take out the rest of base…oh Primus, no…

The wall to her left was abruptly ripped apart as a jet tore through, the soft steel tearing as razor wings sliced it open. Elita turned and ducked on carefully honed instinct, and even then the jet came just short of beheading her. She leapt back to her feet as the infiltrator reverted to his massive humanoid form.

"What are you running from, pretty thing?" he asked silkily, yet a shiver ran down her spinal cords. "I can't stand seeing a lady in distress."

"Go ask your freak-aft, pathetic excuse for a commander," she snarled, and the grin slid immediately from his face.

"Most would suffer heavily for insulting Lord Megatron," the newcomer said dangerously. "However, I'm not so cruel as to kill a helpless female. Would you care to take that back?"

She lifted an optic ridge and, in one fluid motion, pulled her weapon from subspace and shot him in the chest. The Decepticon crashed backwards, out through the hole he'd created, to plummet to the ground, three hundred feet below. She sighed heavily and took off again, thankful for the command center's high altitude for once.

All of headquarters was on high alert. As she sprinted down each hallway—painfully aware of the sound of Megatron's pursuing footsteps—Autobots and Decepticons alike raced past, shouting insults or orders or a combination of both. She had to duck frequently to avoid being caught in the crossfire, and the heat of high-energy pulsations made her coolant systems fly into overdrive.

"Elita!" a voice cried out, and she found herself jerked hard to the ground by a very irate Ratchet. "Thank Primus," the medic sighed, his hard expression loosening slightly. "Is Megatron here?"

She nodded, gasping for breath. "Ratchet…what's…the Ellipses program?"

He blinked, obviously confused. "I haven't the slightest clue. Why?"

"He's…Megatron's looking for it…"

Ratchet's optics narrowed into slits, his face calculating. "Is Optimus alright?"

"No…Megatron reopened the wound in his side, he was bleeding really hard when I left…Ratchet, you've got to back to him, he'll die if you don't do something…"

The medic nodded briefly. "Right. Elita, please, just lead Megatron away. Don't give him anything he wants. If there was ever a time to be a hero, it's now. They somehow downed our system. Our communications are out. It's all or nothing this time."

She hugged him hard on impulse alone. After a startled moment he returned her embrace, then coughed and gruffly shook himself loose. "Go on," he said urgently. "Do everything in your power to keep him after you. Where's Optimus, in the command center? Good, good. Keep him away from the command center, then, and I don't really care how you do it. Good luck, Elita…and be careful."

"You too," she said solemnly, and with that the running began once more.

_**Command center**_

Ironhide lifted the younger mech gently into his arms, panting from the pain of his own wounds. Optimus moaned weakly, his fingers pressed against his side in a feeble attempt to halt the bleeding.

"Hang in there, young one," Ironhide said quietly, running soothing fingers across Prime's face. "Jus' hang in there…Prowl, Jazz! Ya two alive or wha'?"

"Somewhat," Prowl grunted, sitting up with some difficulty. "Slag it all to Pit, that fusion cannon packs a wallop. Jazz! Wake up, aft shaft!"

Jazz groaned theatrically and sat up, pretending to blink around in confusion. "Where am I? _Who_ am I?"

"Would you shut up?" Prowl snapped, climbing shakily to his feet and joining Ironhide. "Primus almighty…where the Pit's Ratchet? On base this time and _still_ of no good to anyone!"

"Elita," Optimus murmured vaguely, his lips barely able to lift. "Someone…help her…"

"She's bound to have lots of help, kid, don't worry about that," Prowl soothed, moving the young commander's hand to examine his wound. "His internal wiring is all fragged up, that's going to take some serious magic to fix that…"

"Ratchet magic," Jazz joked lamely, plopping himself down next to his comrades. "Prowl, why don't you stick around here and make sure no one kills them? I wanna go slag some 'Cons. And now I owe Megatron one."

"Fine, move out," Prowl growled. "Maybe you'll be of more use there than in here jabbing our audio receptors off."

"…Hey," Jazz said, looking hurt. "I'm worried about you guys, you know that?"

Ironhide sighed. "Ya, we know, Jazz. We're worried 'bout ya too. Kick some Decepti-aft, awrigh'?"

"Deal," Jazz said brightly, slapping Ironhide's hand. "And stay strong, Boss, okay? Don't die before I come back."

Optimus nodded feebly, his lips still soundlessly forming Elita's name, though the mask hid his concern. He knew full well the femme had run only to save him, only to distract the brutal Decepticon. But once Megatron caught up to her…

Optimus shuddered and went offline.

_**Western HQ**_

_**Run, man, run!**_

Worst. Day. Ever.

The world exploded all around as Elita ran—flat out sprinted, really—through headquarters, barreling over Autobot and Decepticon alike with occasional apologies shouted over her shoulder. Megatron's infuriated roars echoed on her audio receptors like a crashing wave—repetitive, always drawing ever closer, closer…

She whipped around a corner and skidded to a stop. Beautiful. Dead end with about twenty doors. It was too late to just turn back, she'd be running right into his grasp…as his heavy footfalls grew louder she sprinted halfway down the hall, jerked a random door open, and threw herself inside, careful to close it behind her.

It appeared to be a storeroom—forgotten, judging by the copious amounts of paper and folders littering the floor. She stepped carefully over the mess, trying to leave as much as possible untouched, and lowered herself into a corner behind several tall, steel shipping crates. She realized only after settling down how stupid this was. Megatron would likely point his fusion cannon into every room and obliterate everything rather than search each and every room. And she was playing hide and seek.

So there she was, crouching behind a crate like a child, waiting for the very spawn of Unicron to descend upon her. The fear had begun to ebb; her situation was becoming increasingly hopeless, but she found that that meant she had less to lose. In fact, aside from her life, all she had left…

And with that her thoughts wandered to the mech floors and floors above her. She'd never felt further away from him. Somehow he could be cities away and still be close by; but now, with only death between them, the distance seemed impossibly huge. She leaned back against the wall, tuning out the sounds of the battle and closing off her optics. His image burned fiercely in her memory banks, and she smiled.

She could very well die here. But to die with this image of him in her mind; strong, proud, and noble…the charismatic commander who had stolen her Spark away in fell swoop.

So far away…

_**Command center**_

Primus, they were so far apart. From the moment of her arrival she'd been close: at his side, in the command center, drilling his recruits, sharing his thoughts upon the roof. He'd been so careful to keep his feelings in check, keep her out of his Spark—keep her out of harm's way. He'd forced himself to believe he didn't want one as innocent as her to be scarred the same way he had. He didn't want the images of war to fall upon her innocent eyes.

But now, as he lay in his friend's arms, so painfully close to death, his desire to protect her burned differently than it had before.

Optimus didn't stir while Ratchet worked, and the medic made no effort to wake him. Weeks of recovery, all down the drain…the grumpy older mech scowled and jabbed the syringe in just a little too hard.

"Easy, easy," Ironhide breathed, his optics locked upon his young friend's face. "Is he jus' asleep, or wha'?"

"It may be a state of temporary stasis," Ratchet replied, carefully sealing the bleeding circuits and easing them back into place. "Primus almighty, Megatron sure as Pit made a mess of him. Everything's all out of place, don't know how I'll get his internals realigned…"

"Do yer best," Ironhide replied, feeling slightly nauseated.

"Elita," Optimus moaned suddenly, and Ratchet jumped so badly he nearly ripped out a good portion his patient's wiring. "Elita…"

"She's okay," the medic assured him quickly, rechecking Prime's vitals as the young commander came to. "I just spoke with her not long ago, she's alright…Ironhide, hold him still, I'm sealing the wound."

"Did ya get everything…ya know…back in, uh, place?"

"Everything I can without my equipment on me. Right now I just need to stop the bleeding, he's lost enough energon as it is. Hold him still, I said!"

"Huh? Oh, righ', sorry…"

Optimus only barely felt the heat of the flame as Ratchet carefully welded his metal plates back together, sealing the wound closed over the damaged internal structure. Prowl sat nearby, his optics upon the gaping hole in the wall and his gun held at face level, ready to disable anyone who came in.

"There, okay…ease him down…gentle, Ironhide, gentle! The welding needs to cool into place…until then any sudden movements could open the wound again and I'll be forced to scrap you all."

"Tha's real reassurin', Ratch, thanks," Ironhide said glumly. "How ya holdin' up, young'un?"

"Fine," Optimus mumbled, his breath uneven. "Elita…she's okay, right?"

"She was when I left her," Ratchet said confidently. "Femme she is, weakling she's not. I'm sure she's giving Megatron a real run for his money, so don't worry about it."

Prime nodded weakly before drifting into recharge, his chest heaving from the pain of his wound. Refilling his syringe, Ratchet proceeded to empty pain suppressants into his weakened commander, worry consuming him as he worked. Ironhide settled onto his haunches, adjusting his arm with a wince.

"Ow. Slag tha' Megatron…hope Elita teaches 'im a real good lesson," the weapons officer growled. His expression softened as he watched Optimus's body relax, Ratchet's treatment taking effect. "Huh. Never seen 'im so in'erested in ah femme befo'. Wondah wha' it's all abou'?"

"Who knows?" Ratchet sighed. "Knowing mechs his age, it's either a chemical imbalance in his cerebral membrane, or it's mad obsession. But then, taking into account that it's Optimus we're talking about, it could be a dangerous combination of both."

_**Storage room 113**_

Megatron paused in the hallway, his head turning slowly back and forth between the two rows of doors, his optics narrowed dangerously. She was somewhere in here. He could feel it. It was there—the unmistakable scent of fear. And yet, as he waited, the scent began to fade, growing weaker and weaker…Megatron's faceplates curled into a silent snarl as he lost track of it altogether. Either the femme had given up altogether or she was growing cocky. Basing a theory off of their only encounter, he couldn't help but feel more confident in the latter circumstance.

With a sigh, he hefted his fusion cannon and kicked open the first door. He didn't need to stick his head in to know the area was devoid of life. He continued down the row, each door coming down. Not once did he investigate a room; when something living was crouched in the shadows, he would know.

Megatron was a predator. He would know.

Halfway down the hall, his senses tingled. This door. The one before him housed his prey. Smirking, he mercilessly kicked it down.

And then the unexpected finally slapped him in the face. Elita had no defense. Her confidence hadn't grown, but she hadn't given up hope, either. She'd just come to the simple conclusion that she had been out of alternatives—and the Ellipses program had activated.

The change was slow in coming, yet hit so fast Megatron didn't even have time to think. The effect was immediate throughout headquarters. Mechs ten floors up froze in mid-battle; energon charges from weapons simply stopped in mid-air.

In the command center, Ratchet suddenly found himself chasing the exact same thought around in his head over and over, his mouth open to speak it but no sound coming out. Prowl had just begun to climb to his feet, but was now frozen in a standing position with his knees bent way too much. Ironhide had been stroking Optimus's face; his fingers now hovered, immobile, over the young mech's mask.

There was no comprehending what was going on. Deep down, in their Sparks, every mech on base knew something incredible was occurring, but the same thought they'd been thinking when the program activated kept chasing its own tail around their minds…

And outside, a spectator gazed up at headquarters, his brow furrowed in thought. A younger mech stood behind him, watching his mentor with the utmost curiosity.

"Sir?" he asked tentatively, raising an optic ridge. "What are you thinking?"

"Why is there a hole in the command center?" the older mech said, cocking his head thoughtfully. "Escapade?"

"Um…I don't see anything."

"I can see through walls."

"…I see."

"…Hm. Look. There's a force field around base."

Escapade frowned. "I sense nothing."

"Oh, it's very subtle," his companion replied, approaching headquarters cautiously. "It's because she doesn't know how to properly use the program. The Ellipses program is meant as a backup system, a last line of defense. Her hard drive will only commence it if her cerebral processor can calculate no other logical alternatives. Our ARIEL must be in quite a jam. Shall we go in?"

"Will we be frozen as well if we step within the force field?" Escapade asked nervously.

"No, no, I don't think so. It has frozen time, and anyone can pop in on time," the old mech replied, walking past the unmoving guards and into the Autobot stronghold. "Let's move up to the command center first. We need to find PAX."

"Why, sir?"

"His and ARIEL's Sparks are compatible. He should be able to wake her from stasis lock—which she is undoubtedly going in to as we speak, so let us hurry."

They emerged through the hole moments later (and Escapade honestly wondered if his mentor could see through walls) to see Ironhide, Prowl, Ratchet, and Optimus Prime still frozen in mid-motion (with the exception of the latter, who was blissfully unconscious).

"Oh, dear, that looks uncomfortable, doesn't it?" the old mech chuckled, pointing at Jazz. "Imagine having to stand like that, knees half bent. That would put a lot of burn on those calves!"

"PAX is wounded," Escapade noted, indicating the pool of energon no one had bothered to clean up. "In his side, I would assume. Look, it looks as though it's been freshly welded."

"Excellent observation, young one. Now then, let's launch the antiprogram…"

"How, sir?"

"Watch," his mentor said, approaching the computer at which Elita had been working earlier. It had remained miraculously undamaged when Megatron had blown through the wall, undoubtedly shielded by both Optimus and Elita. The old mech bent over and in what seemed like seconds had hacked into its hard drive.

"Sir," Escapade said tentatively. "If time has stopped…how…?"

"This computer has no true intelligence, my dear protégé," the mentor said brightly. "It has no concept of time, so time does not affect it. Ah, here we are…now we launch the antiprogram to these exact coordinates…"

With four simultaneous, shuddering gasps, the four mechs upon the floor jerked back into consciousness. Prowl stood, then groaned at the soreness in his legs and sat back down. Ratchet randomly said "You stupid lugnut," and Ironhide accidentally smacked Optimus in the face.

"…Whoa," Ironhide said blankly, blinking at the two new arrivals. "Wha' th' Pit _was_ tha'?"

"That, my friend, was a time-stop," the old mech said pleasantly, striding over to crouch at Optimus's side. "Primus almighty, he really does have a knack for danger, doesn't he? Is he strong enough to stand?"

"Doubtful," Ratchet managed, feeling very confused. "I'm sorry, but who…?"

"I am Alpha Trion," he interrupted, running careful fingers down Optimus's wounded side. "That youngling over there is Escapade, my newest apprentice."

"And you're here because…?"

"I am Optimus Prime and Elita's creator," Trion said bluntly, removing Prime's mask delicately. "Primus, he hasn't changed a bit. Actually, I refer to them as PAX and ARIEL. It's their project names, you see…but, for his sake…Optimus? Wake up, lad, much to do…"

Prime moaned weakly as Trion shook him, and Ironhide sprang forward, pulling Trion's hands away.

"He's hurt," Ironhide said apologetically, releasing his grip quickly at the questioning look on Trion's face. "Can' we jus'…let 'im rest?"

"No time," Trion replied curtly, shaking Prime's shoulder roughly. "Elita's strength wears thin even as we speak. If the program ends before we can reach her, Megatron will undoubtedly steal the Ellipses program from her."

"And just what is the Ellipses program?" Ratchet asked, frowning at the rough treatment of his patient. "Ahem, why don't you let me…?"

"Hm? Yes, yes, of course…the Ellipses program, as I'm sure Megatron has already told someone or other, is a time-stop program, a last resort when implanted into a hard drive. I used ARIEL as my original test subject… the program is costly and extremely difficult to duplicate, so I figured a non-violent, gentle femme would be the best place in which to hide it. I, erm, didn't account for her personality when using that logic, however, and now it seems my plan has backfired. Elita is in the military, and my irreplaceable program is in it with her."

"So where does Optimus come in?" Prowl demanded.

"Project PAX was created to house the Matrix of Leadership," Trion replied, smiling slightly as the weary commander began to come to with Ratchet's gentle coaxing. "I can't tell you how nice it is to finally see one of my projects coming along so nicely. I was worried when I programmed his personality chip, but it seems I hit the nail on the head! Ah, Optimus. Feeling alright?"

The young mech blinked, his vision slowly sliding into focus. Then his jaw dropped. "T-Trion?"

"It has been a long time, little one," Trion said affectionately, handing Optimus his mask as Ironhide and Ratchet helped him sit up, the medic holding his leader's wound closed. "You've lost a lot of blood today, haven't you? Well, you needn't worry, this battle is nearly through, nearly through…"

"What are you doing here?" Prime groaned, wincing as Ironhide helped him to his feet. Trion leapt up lightly. "And what the Pit is going on?"

"I am here to help Elita safely stop the Ellipses program," Trion said, smiling. "Which has activated, stopping time for as long as her strength holds out. Oh, and we may want to hurry. Megatron will terminate her if Optimus does not reach her in time."

"He's wounded," Ratchet argued hotly. "He can't go sprinting down however many floors she may be below, and—wait, do we even know where she is?"

"Oh, I can easily track her," the old mech said easily, his smile widening. "Well then, off we go. And do hurry."

"It's like he didn't hear a word we said," Ratchet grumbled, supporting Optimus's other side as they made their way down the hall. "I think we're okay for now, the welding isn't coming apart…how's the pain?"

"It's not bad…"

"Good."

"So…" Optimus began, then broke off, struggling to find the words. "Trion…that Ellipses program Megatron was asking for…Elita really did have it?"

"I'm afraid so," Trion sighed, for once dropping his happy demeanor.

"…How did he know she had it?"

The old mentor slowed his gait ever so slightly to allow them time to catch up before returning to his brisk pace. "Optimus, Megatron may not be my creation, but you two are of the same Spark. You are brothers, in relative terms. Whether you know it or not you and Elita have compatible Sparks, and—,"

"WE WHAT?"

"Whoa! Easy there, big guy, you'll open yer wound…calm down…"

"What does he mean, Elita and I have compatible Sparks? And since when is he Elita's creator?"

"Why don't you ask him yourself?"

"Oh…good idea. Trion—what the Pit is going on?"

"I intentionally made you and Elita like that," Trion sighed, shuffling his feet slightly as though in embarrassment. "Neither of you complete, both searching for that missing piece…however, I believe this undeniable connection has made Megatron sensitive to her as well. He needed no instruments to trace that program; he could _sense_ that she had it. Megatron is compatible with Elita too…on a different, more complex level."

"…How different?"

"More of an alternate universe kind of different."

"Okay, good."

"So, wha', does tha' mean Optimus already has ah spahkmate or wha'?" Ironhide asked, looking questioningly at the old mech.

"Only if he so chooses," Trion said simply. "But bondage is a sacred thing. It mustn't be taken lightly. Elita and Optimus are compatible, yes; but it is up to them to allow that love to flow."

"…Fraggit," Optimus groaned, lowering his head. "Life was confusing enough without all of this destined sparkmate slag."

"I would recommend not telling Elita, by the way," Trion suddenly said thoughtfully. "That may alarm her. She was built with a free spirit, she'll want to feel that she has a choice. We wouldn't want her pulling away from you."

"…No," Optimus agreed quietly. "We wouldn't want that at all…"

_**Commander's Quarters**_

Consciousness returned slowly, floating in and out and in again. By the time she had a good grasp on it the planet was faced fully toward the sun, light crashing through the windows. Elita almost didn't want to wake up; never before had her recharge bed so warm. Nor had it ever seemed quite as large…

She sat up and, for a fleeting moment, wanted to pull her gun from subspace.

"Oh," Optimus said, looking up from his personal computer. "Awake, are you?"

"…Explanation?" she asked weakly.

"On what?"

"On why the Pit I'm in your quarters?!"

"Oh, that." He sighed and rolled his optics. "Someone caught wind that that strange time-stop phenomena came from you, which is top-secret information. So, naturally, all of base knows about it. Ratchet's med bay was swamped with curious little optics, so I figured I'd take you somewhere where you wouldn't be bothered, and my quarters alone fit such qualifications."

"…Oh," she replied blankly. "But…the Decepticons…Megatron…!"

"We tossed Megatron out a window," Optimus said bluntly. "Unfortunately, once he left the force field that Ellipses program set up the time-stop ceased to have an effect on him, and he survived…and after that we just went on ahead and chased all of the other little Pit-spawn out. Quite simple, really…but I was worried about you," he added quietly. "Your energy levels were so low you were in near stasis lock. Ratchet wasn't sure…I was worried," he repeated lamely.

"…Your side?"

"I'm fine," he said quickly. "Ratchet put me on a faster recovery plan this time…apparently I'm not allowed within a radius of five hundred yards from the shooting range or sparring quarters. A pity, my shot's getting a bit rusty."

She smiled, and after a moment he returned the gesture. "No mask," she noted brightly.

"It felt oddly restricting today," he said, shrugging.

She laughed, her tone warm and light. After a moment she quieted, looking about his room. The walls were lined with shelves containing hundreds of files: economic reports, casualty lists, recruit applications. Some held numerous books on various subjects, though most appeared to be biographies of generals she only vaguely remembered studying. She was slightly surprised by his lack of personalization; it was just a room with a lot of paperwork.

"You can go back into recharge if you'd like," he said suddenly, and she looked over at him. "I won't bother you."

She grinned and flopped backwards, stretching on the steel surface. "You've got a slagging huge recharge bed, you know that?"

"Do I? I haven't really been in anyone else's quarters, so I wouldn't know…"

"Really? You should come over to mine sometime…" she trailed off, and the blush rose fast in her faceplates. "Uh…that sounded a lot different in my head."

He laughed. "It's okay, I know what you meant."

"That sounded really stupid, didn't it?" she groaned, putting her face in her hands. "Primus almighty, I'm sorry…"

Embarrassed, she slid hurriedly off his bed, attempting to distract her disorganized thoughts by inspecting his room more closely. At first he paid her no heed; the fast clack of his fingers upon the keyboard continued. Yet after a few minutes it slowed, finally coming to a stop. She turned hurriedly to look out the high window. His chair scraped against the floor as he stood up, his feet clicked gently as he approached her.

She turned to speak, but then his lips were caressing her cheek, his hands upon her hips. She felt her faceplates grow hot as he drew her closer, into the warmth of his embrace. Her hands wandered up to stroke his broad chest plate gently, her fingers running hesitantly along its length. On impulse alone she pulled him closer, her lips brushing his face as she breathed in his beauty.

"I shouldn't be doing this," he murmured, stroking the small of her back.

"Then don't."

"But I want to."

"Then do."

He sighed and pressed his forehead to hers, searching her optics. "You're something else, you know that?"

"Do you mean that in the negative or positive sense?"

"…Good question."

"Gee, thanks."

"It doesn't matter," he said, smiling faintly. "I like it either way."

She lifted a tentative hand and ran her fingers down his bare face, tracing over his strong jaw line. Almost as an afterthought she stroked his cheek, and he relaxed to her touch, closing off his optics almost lazily. His mouth was so close…Primus, to just lean in…to taste, even if only once, the supple, elusive lips of Optimus Prime…he was already pulling her against him, his lips touched hers—

"Sir!" a sergeant yelled, kicking the door open, but froze upon seeing them.

Optimus pulled away, startled and embarrassed by the soldier's abrupt entering. "Uh…yes?"

The sergeant blinked, then seemed to remember his objective and shook his head quickly. "Uh, sir…there's a message from the High Council…but, uh, if this is a bad time…"

"It's fine," Prime said quickly. Elita attempted to move away, but his arms tightened around her, and she willingly relaxed back into his embrace. "What does this message address, exactly?"

"Um…I don't know all the details…but…it's something having to do with a peace treaty with the Decepticons…"

"Really?" Optimus and Elita asked in unison, equally surprised.

The sergeant winced. "Well, yes…but, um…the Council wants a certain condition met…and it involves you, sir…"

A silence followed. Optimus cleared his throat very slightly. "Well?"

The soldier jumped nervously, obviously both upset and embarrassed by the news he was forced to deliver. "Uh, well…the Council says that, in order to make a lasting bond between Autobot and Decepticon…"

"Spit it out, soldier."

"…There is a Decepticon lord in the far north city of Demicon. He has a daughter, roughly your age. In order to build a lasting bond between our two factions, the Council…

The High Council would like you to take her as your sparkmate."

. E N D . T R A N S M I S S I O N .


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

_Plenoptic _

**Wait, what IS this? These reviews! I think the term "bleeding" could totally be applied to Transformers, it's perfectly logical…but to satisfy all of you picky people out there I'll use "leaking". And one review commented that Optimus is being a wuss. Optimus is not being a wuss, Megatron is being an aft. Besides, this isn't just about Elita. Everyone has to start somewhere. This fan fiction is a break for Prime. He's now found someone to lean on—it's time for him to begin to grow. Yes, he will seem childish at times, at times he will be immature. But as this fic progresses he will break down those insecurities and evolve into the kick-aft commander we all know and love.**

**By the way, Elita's name has not yet been completed with the addition of the "One." As a sergeant she still had not gained the authority to add to her name. Don't ask me about my logic, I just thought it would be cooler if she completed her title along the way. **

**Not much more to say here, really…please enjoy, please review, in that order.**

. B E G I N . T R A N S M I S S I O N .

"This is slag, Ironhide! They can't really force him to do this, can they?"

"They can' force 'im ta do anythin'…"

"That's true, but this is a chance for peace, and the Decepticons have already agreed to the terms."

"So you think he'll go through with it?"

"Fraggit! What about Elita?"

"Shut up, Jazz…there's nothin' she can do abou' it…Prahmus, this mus' be killin' 'im."

"Come on, you guys, I really think he and Elita had a chance…!"

"Shut _up!_"

"I just…for the love of Pit, he'll be miserable if he does this."

"He knows that, Jazz…but if it means reuniting Cybertron, he'll do it. He's just that kind of mech."

"…Wish someone else could do it for him."

"…Yeah."

"Agreed."

Prowl sighed and turned away from his comrades, his shoulders hunched as made his way back to the newly repaired command center. Jazz followed suit, and within moments Ratchet muttered something about his med bay and shuffled off. Ironhide sighed and leaned against the wall, taking his optics offline to allow for a moment of thought.

Primus, he hated this. The Pit-slagging High Council…

No, they couldn't force him to do it. But what choice did the young commander truly have? This could be the one chance at peace…the one chance to bring the rebel forces back. And Ironhide knew his friend would gladly throw away his happiness if it meant ensuring the stability of the planet he loved so much.

But what about the femme he'd come to love even more?

_**The Autobot-Decepticon Border. DZ (Demilitarized zone).**_

_**Meeting chambers**_

Optimus Prime heard nothing of the nonsensical babbling of the femme next to him. He felt numb. He'd come to his decision after a long night of agonizing thought, weighing cause and effect, forcing himself to ignore the throbbing memory of her touch…the gentle caress of her fingers on his face, her quickened pulse as their lips drew together…

"Hey—are you okay?"

"Huh?" he asked blankly, looking over at his companion.

The Decepticon femme cocked an optic ridge, but laughed. "You're a spacey one, aren't you?"

"Not…usually."

She snorted and stretched widely. "Hey, I can sit here and talk your aft off or you can tell me what's on your mind. Either's cool with me."

He shrugged vaguely and turned his head away slightly, his chin resting on his palm.

"Okay, look," she said impatiently, turning his face towards her. "I'm not any happier about this than you are. So you can sit there and brood, let it all happen and not do a thing about it, or you can talk to me and we can find a way to get both our afts out of this."

He narrowed his optics slightly, but she met his gaze confidently, her face betraying no hint of deception. He sighed and leaned back in his chair, frowning slightly. "The latter sounds good."

She grinned. "See? I knew you were smarter than the media said you were."

"…Uh oh. Just how badly have I been bashed around here?"

"Frankly, your abilities have been reduced to that of a sparkling's."

"Just for the record," he growled, "I'm slightly more valuable in a seat of command than a sparkling."

"Well, _I _know that, but _they_ don't," she said, shrugging. "So. Why are you so against this?"

He blinked, then scowled. "Nothing against you, but the government wants me to take a femme I don't know as my sparkmate. As in, I'm supposed to adopt a lifelong partner without knowing anything about her. In all reality I'd rather betroth myself to my weapons officer. No offense," he added.

"None taken," she said mildly, propping her chin in her palms. "I feel for you. I'm a little slagged off myself; I can think of about fifteen other mechs I'd like to hook up with rather than some intimidating dude I've never even met before. But no offense," she snorted, grinning.

"I'm not that intimidating," he said, smiling slightly. "I'm actually quite docile."

"I don't doubt it. But normally a mech wouldn't be so opposed to having a femme thrown at him. I get the feeling I'm not the only player in this game. Who's candidate number two?"

"…I never said anything about another femme," Optimus said dryly.

"Oh, get real," she snorted. "You've got it written all over your face. You've fallen head over heels for some chicka and you can't even get her out of your cerebral processor."

"…Just who are you?" he demanded, scowling.

"The name's Moonracer," she replied, smiling brightly. "And just for the record I think this whole fight is totally stupid. I stick with these guys because of my dad, but…I don't know. I was happier when everyone was at peace. This war is senseless."

"Glad someone sees it my way," he said.

"There are a lot of us that feel the same," Moonracer told him quietly, her optics oddly bright. "A lot of us have Autobot ideals. Just as I'm sure there are Autobots with Decepticon ideals. It's all a question of loyalty. And I've got a bad feeling there's going to be a lot of side-switching soon."

"…That's frightening."

"Yeah. Yeah, it is."

"…Huh. I guess you're a lot like her."

"A lot like who?"

"My femme," he replied, grinning. "Her name's Elita. And I couldn't help feeling that you two are similar in some ways. Different in others, but…I can definitely see a little bit of her in you."

"Cool," she said, laughing. "I'm a little like Optimus Prime's girlfriend."

"…Uh. We're not…exactly…_together._"

"Too scared to make a move, huh?" she said sympathetically, patting his arm. "Don't worry, big guy, you'll get there. Now then, on to more pressing matters. Is there any way to stop this without totally slagging off the powers that be?"

"I don't think so," he said grimly, sighing and resting his face in his hands. "I've been trying to think up a solution, but…nothing's come. I just don't see any way out of this…"

"There's a way," Moonracer growled, her face set and determined. "There's gotta be a way…"

_**Autobot HQ **_

_**Med bay**_

"So she's against this thing too?" Elita asked, cocking her head curiously.

"Seems so," Optimus replied, handing Ratchet a syringe at the medic's commanding grunt. "Apparently she's sided with the Decepticons more as loyalty to her father rather than the cause."

"We may have an ally in this femme," Ratchet observed, bending closer over his unconscious patient. "Elita…was this one really under your watch?"

"You know what? Don't give me any slag, okay?"

"Okay, okay," he chuckled. "In all reality, I'm quite used to seeing damaged interface appliances nowadays."

"Another poor cadet shot in the groin," Optimus sighed. "You know it happened to me?"

Elita grinned. "You're serious, aren't you?"

"Am I ever anything but? It was actually Jazz who shot me; I'm sure he regrets it now, but he was laughing at the time, and there I am, rolling around on the ground…Primus, it was pure misery…"

"I'm so sorry," she said, but the sympathy in her voice was only surface deep.

"Well, this one won't be seeing any sparklings," Ratchet said, standing up and stretching widely, "but he'll live."

"Can anyone actually die from an interface appliance injury?" Elita asked, cocking an optic ridge.

"I've never actually heard of such a case, but I suppose it's possible," Ratchet theorized, then he grinned. "Of course, the average mech would die of humiliation."

"Huh? Why?"

"Are you kidding me?" Optimus chuckled. "The mere thought of being sterile absolutely sends me into stasis lock. Terrifying concept, really…"

"Little too much information there," she said flatly, cradling her chin in her palm. "Let's talk about how to get you and this Moonracer chicka out of this."

"If we annul this, the Decepticon government—and I use the term very loosely—is, to be perfectly blunt, going to be really slagged off," Ratchet said, attempting to slap his patient awake.

"True. And I'd really like to not slag them off," Optimus agreed. "Not that I'd mind bashing a few Decepticon afts, but it's not like we've got the resources nor the troops to support an army if we go to true war."

"So it seems a peace treaty is our only option."

"Agreed."

"Isn't there some other way to do this, though?" Elita asked, shifting uncomfortably and looking at Prime with desperate optics. "Optimus, if you go through with this…think about it. That's your future you're throwing away. If you refuse, then…you could take some time and find someone you're truly happy with."

Optimus blinked at her, quite frankly shocked. It was an odd thing for anyone to say, especially from rock-hard-kick-aft Elita. She turned her gaze away quickly, frowning. Hard as she had tried in the past few days she had not forgotten how near she had come to kissing him. How wonderful his lips had felt upon her face, the warmth of his hands as he held her.

Ratchet glanced nervously from one to the other, observing the hurt in Elita's optics and the indecision in Optimus's. And then, out of nowhere, he began to laugh. Both younger bots looked up, obviously confused, and he only fell deeper into his levity. It took a good ten minutes for the medic to calm down, and in the process he accidentally jabbed his syringe in several places it did not belong.

"I'm sorry," he choked out eventually, still chortling. "That was out of place. It's not even that amusing, but…ah, young love. I remember it so well."

"What the Pit are you talking about?" Elita asked irritably.

"And what do you mean, young love?" Optimus demanded, scowling. "You're barely any older than I am!"

"Beg to differ," Ratchet snorted. "You're barely out of younglinghood."

"That's not true and you know it. I'm practically full grown."

"Practically. Ah, Trion made a good decision. I'll be interested to see how this works out."

"Huh?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Relax, relax. The third wheel is leaving. I have to go to Prowl for a moment, would you two mind terribly watching the bay while I'm gone?"

"Watch the--? Ratchet, hold on a second! Since when does the med bay need guarding?"

"Be back soon!"

The door snapped shut before Optimus could grab his medic's arm. The commander let his head thud against the door and released a frustrated sigh. Elita groaned and put her face in her hands.

"Primus, that guy drives me crazy."

"Join the club."

A long silence followed. Prime swallowed nervously. He hadn't had any trouble interacting with Elita following their tender interaction, but to be suddenly be alone with her was only slightly overwhelming. Especially with the complication at hand.

He did not jump when gentle arms wrapped around his waist from behind, as her face pressed into his back. His fists clenched at his sides; very soon, she would not be able to touch him like this. The only Spark on Cybertron with which his pulsed in unison. The only person on Cybertron who had the capacity to see him for who he truly was. She was holding him now, squeezing him gently. The probable love of his life was finally in tangible form, finally touchable, finally more than a vague daydream. And soon he may lose her.

"I don't want you to do it," Elita said quietly, her grip tightening ever so slightly. "I'm being perfectly honest. I don't want you to give so much up. You can't undo a bonding. You know that just as well as I do. You'd have to rip your Spark literally in half. If you go through with this, there'll be no going back."

"…Is there really _any _going back, Elita? No mistake can truly be corrected. You cannot truly retrace your steps. You must make do with the results."

"You won't have anything left. Your happiness will be gone. Your freedom. And your career—how do you plan to continue with the military if you're completely devoted to a femme you don't even love?"

"I may grow to love her," Optimus said emotionlessly, and he felt her head shake hard against his back.

"Stop. Don't say that. I can't…Primus, the mere thought of it…Optimus, I'll break apart. I'm barely holding on as it is…"

He pulled away gently so he could turn around. The femme he now faced shocked him. The tough, strong-spirited soldier he was so accustomed to seeing had been replaced by a shaky, fragile innocent. Her display of weakness obviously bothered her, and she seemed to be trying to pull herself back together.

It felt so nostalgic. He felt as though someone had abruptly pointed a giant mirror straight into the innermost crevices of his Spark. Like someone had broken him apart and found his core. And it was more than that. It was incredible. He'd been hiding, in all honesty. He'd been hiding the insecurity, the indecisiveness, the weakness. He'd been so afraid—so afraid that he alone was weak on the inside, that he alone held fears.

Yet there she was. Unable to be strong any longer, Elita was there. Allowing her fear, her pain, to flow free. Shedding tears (figuratively) in his place. His Spark lurched in his chest, twisted so tightly it hurt. It was a good hurt. It was a relieved hurt. A gratefulness beyond comprehension, and there was not much the large mech's mind could not comprehend. The thankfulness enveloped him, swallowed him whole. There she was. Crying (in the non-literal sense of the word) for him. Hurting for him. She was there. There when no one else could see him.

She was there.

Without remorse, without hesitation, he pulled her into his embrace. He held her close, his strong arms tightening around her waist as he rocked her gently. He'd never felt so young. He'd never felt as childish. But at that moment, as he held the femme he'd abruptly, irreversibly fallen in love with, he did not care. The relief was nearly suffocating. She'd found him not a moment too soon. She'd saved him not a moment too late. She was there, just in the nick of time, her hand extended and her Spark expectant.

She was there.

_**Commander's quarters**_

"There's a way."

"I know there is."

"Well, what is it?"

"I haven't the foggiest idea."

"So we're still at square one."

"Of course we are."

"You do realize that you're totally unhelpful."

"I've had inklings of such."

Elita groaned and leaned back against the wall, her optic ridges drawing together in a frustrated scowl. Optimus sighed and drummed his fingers on his desk, a frown tugging at the edges of his exposed mouth (she'd stolen and hidden his mask).

"…Where's my mouthplate?"

"Not telling."

"Please?"

"Nope."

"Tell me where it is, and that's an order."

"I'm not on duty."

"Oh, slag it."

"Hah."

He glanced up, and she smirked. Funny. In one night she'd saved him and driven him crazy. And was still driving him crazy. Desperate times called for desperate measures…

He got heavily to his feet and approached her in three graceful strides, drawing so close that her breath caught. His fingers ran along the length of her side, and the blush rose fast in her faceplates. Optimus leaned in close, his lips brushing her cheek.

"Elita?"

"…Mn?"

"Where's my mouthplate?"

"…Not telling."

"I will use force if necessary."

"Really. Enlighten me."

He smirked very slightly. "You're a stubborn one, aren't you?"

"Very much. I'm famous for it."

He lifted a hand and stroked her cheek, no longer seductive. His expression softened, his lips drawn into a quiet smile. "What do you think of me, Elita?"

"You?"

"Sure."

She frowned, then took a deep breath. "I think you're a seductive, chauvinistic Pit-spawn who deserves to rot in the chasms of Unicron's waste depository system. You're stubborn and impulsive, and far too easy to manipulate. You're basically a wimp, and your hard-headedness is going to get you killed someday. Finer points aside your ego could use some real deflation and you're a control freak."

She broke off. He was so close. The scenario felt familiar. It was too familiar. Any moment now they could be interrupted, any moment now some obnoxious recruit could be banging down that door and dragging him away again. He was so close their chests were actually touching, so close she could actually feel the mighty pulse of his Spark. Her optics widened;

It beat the same way hers did.

And both were hammering frantically. Both sensed the presense of the other painfully close by, both begged to be united. She lifted her gaze to meet his, confused, but he offered no explanation. He tilted his head ever so slightly as he leaned in closer to her, their lips brushed gently, and two pairs of optics went offline as Optimus Prime and Elita kissed.

. E N D . T R A N S M I S S I O N .

**Ah, chapter seven already? I have no idea why, but this feels like a landmark. For those of you who had grown weary of expectancy I left no cliffhanger at this chapter. I may not be able to update for a few days so I don't want to leave you hanging or anything. Until the weekend comes I'll try to leave you fairly satisfied with each installment. **

**Things to come: It's now time for Optimus and Elita to begin to truly grow, now that they've found each other. And--much to my delight--this story now may have something of a plotline!!! See, this is indeed a landmark chapter. The rebellion will definitely begin to intensify, and we'll get to see some bad-aft action out of our favorite commander (the male one). **

**I have no idea how long this fic will go on. As long as its reviews continue and the ideas flow, I suppose. But, sadly enough, when the time comes it shall indefinitely end. Please enjoy, please review, in that order.**

_Plenoptic_


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

_Plenoptic _

**Hey there Transfans—a hearty Bah Weep Grannah Weep Ni Ni Bong to all! Last chapter was interesting, was it not? It heralded Optimus and Elita's first kiss—and the beginning of the end. Not only that, but Moonracer was introduced! I plan to introduce all of the classic characters in similar ways. I also slipped Alpha Trion in there in chapter six, did I not? He was received very well…by the way, there was one review that used the phrase "my heart squees with the fluffiness!" or someting to that degree, and I just thought that was so totally adorable! I was running around all day quoting that, thank you so much!**

**And more thanks to one reviewer in particular...it seems this user sat down and read all seven chapters, then sent in reviews for each and every one! This user seemed to like the part about Elita wanting to be Optimus' reason for living...I worked so hard on that part, I was glad someone commented on it! Thank you so much, and to all of you who have been reviewing constantly. It really makes my day!**

**Once again, I have no idea how long this fic will go on. Right now, I can easily see a good fifteen chapters before we're ready to close it up…of course I'm still debating over the nature of the conclusion. Pit, this thing needs an actual plot before I even start thinking up the ending…ah well, there's time to worry about that later. For now, let's get on with our favorite couple, shall we? Please enjoy, please review, in that order.**

**NOTE: There is one part in this chapter that refers to taste. And I'm going to catch this before anyone bashes; yes, I know Transformers probably can't taste. But guess what? This is a fan fiction, it fit the context, so just roll with it. (After all, in all honesty, how many of you have been wondering what it'd be like to kiss Optimus Prime?) (Are you all blushing right now?)**

. B E G I N . T R A N S M I S S I O N .

There was no passion. There was no lust. It was simple, pure love. Still in its early stages, its fragile heart just barely beating, but the love was there all the same. As Optimus Prime kissed Elita, they both felt it. Mouths parted and came back together stronger, frantic hands held the other close. Soft words escaped the tender collapsing of their lips upon each other, gentle fingers caressed the other's face, their Sparks pulsed in their chests, in perfect unison. Each touch drove them on, drove them deeper, deeper into a chasm from which there was certainly no escape.

But who wanted to escape?

They were suffocating. Drowning, in the figurative sense. Drowning in the nearly overpowering emotion in each overlap of their lips, in each gentle caress. She felt utterly trapped, utterly overwhelmed as she was pressed against the wall, his mouth warm on hers. His hands wandered across her slender hips, hers traced along his handsome face.

And, best of all, it was uninterrupted. On this night, no one would be breaking down his door. For, at some point or other (neither of them was keeping track of time), a mech by the name of Ratchet had poked his head in to inquire about a report he was expecting. His intrusion had gone unnoticed by the lovers, and he'd backed out silently. Since then, he'd been standing outside the door, shooing away anyone who dared come too near.

On this night, no one would be breaking down his door. On this night, no one would treat him as the leader. On this night, he would be treated as the strong, noble mech he truly was. He would be treated not as her commander, but as the one person who would understand her pain, understand her Spark as even she could not. On this night, they would be free. Free to cry if they wished, free to laugh, free to speak whatever words came to mind…

Free to love.

For this could very well be the only night they could do so. After this night, his Spark could very well be bonded irreversibly to another's. There would be no escape. The softness of her lips would be nothing more than a vague memory.

No. No, he knew that wasn't true. Even if he was bonded to the femme named Moonracer, he knew the memory of Elita's touch would never fade. He knew that as he lay awake on his recharge bed, as his optics drifted offline, he would feel her kiss, he would feel her hands upon his face in the same way he now did. And, to his own surprise, he found he was enjoying it immensely. Smiling inwardly, he deepened each kiss.

The feeling was not one-sided. The femme in his arms appeared to be just as thrilled with the interaction as he was. She responded warmly to his kiss, her hands gentle upon his chestplates. She'd never kissed anyone before, she was quite sure the opportunity to do so with Optimus Prime was a highly coveted one. He was at first tentative, but as he adjusted to her touch the kisses came harder and faster, he was losing himself…his lips tasted familiarly metallic, almost sweet…

He pulled away, released her and turned away, breathing rather hard. She leaned against the wall, her faceplates furiously hot, her frame shaking slightly.

"…I'm sorry," he mumbled, holding a hand against his mouth, the taste of her lips still present. He closed off his optics, mentally kicking himself. "Slag. Elita, we should _not_ be doing this."

"…Yeah, I figured as much."

"This is really wrong. We're not supposed to fraternize. Especially with my being commander… oh, Primus, if this gets out…"

"Look, it doesn't have to," she said, a tinge of impatience in her voice. "We don't have to make any indications of a relationship in public. And…if you're that embarrassed by me…you can just forget all about it."

He whirled around, half expecting her to be crying again, but realized he was stupid for thinking so. If there was one thing he'd learned about Elita, it was that she was not like most femmes. She now faced him resolutely, her optics on fire and her face set in determined expression. It was a gaze that would have sent most mechs running—

But Optimus Prime was not most mechs.

Though that look worried him slightly. And although he did not know it at the time, he would fear that look for long, long years to come.

"I'm not embarrassed by you, Elita," he said firmly, but she did not relax. "Listen to me. You've been working so hard. I've seen you. You're working your way up the ranks, you're learning so fast. And you've got a Pit-slagging good shot." A small smile twitched upon her lips, and he plowed on. "But this is wrong. It's against protocol. It's—,"

She kissed him hard. And for a moment, he almost allowed himself back to her, almost allowed himself to be lost in her warmth. But he pulled away, turned his face away from her. Her hands slipped from his face to clutch his.

"Can't you forget about protocol?" she asked quietly, her fingers squeezing gently. "For our sake, can you forget about it for even a moment?"

"That was a moment," he said quietly, meeting her gaze confidently. "That was many moments, actually. I'm sorry, Elita. I can't…I can't do this."

"…And you're finding your conscience after _that_?" she asked heatedly.

He stalled, lost for words. The truth was that there was no way his conscience was going to emerge in the middle of that interaction. No way. He would've mentally beaten it over the head and shoved it up Megatron's aft. As of about ten minutes ago he'd never kissed a femme. As of nine minutes and fifty nine seconds ago, he had. He hadn't been about to ruin that.

The truth honestly made him hate himself. To kiss her like that, to speak the words he'd spoken, to touch her the way he had…and then tear it apart. Slag it. A few hours ago, he'd been so hopeful. He'd felt saved by the femme who'd unexpectedly been dropped into his life. The femme with whom he could be honestly happy. But Optimus Prime had not been raised as a lover. He'd been raised as a soldier. And in all honesty his programming now forced his Spark out of the way.

"So just like that," Elita said, placing her hands upon her hips. "You're saying no more. Kiss and run, eh?"

"Elita…please, it's not like that."

"Oh, I'm sure it's not," she said shortly, pushing past him on her way to the door. "But that's all I hear."

"Elita," he begged, turning and grabbing her hand. "Please. Please, don't go. Not now."

She looked over her shoulder at him, her optics cold. "What happens if I stay, Optimus?"

He blinked, speechless. Shaking her head slightly, she pulled her hand from his and opened the door. "See you on duty."

"Wait—"

Pushing past a very confused Ratchet, she was gone.

**_Firing Range_**

"How's the interface appliance feeling?"

"U-Um, uh, Sergeant…that was…uh…"

"Sorry, uncalled for? Yeah, yeah, I know. Just keep up the good work, kid."

"Y-Yes, ma'am."

Elita rolled her optics and smirked slightly as the embarrassed cadet hurried off. She jumped a bit as a hand came to rest upon her shoulder.

"Can we talk?" Optimus asked quietly, his voice betraying his desperation.

"Commander, I think it's inappropriate for you to be so close. Quite frankly it's against protocol, and would probably raise suspicion."

"Elita, I slagged up, okay? I jumped to conclusions."

"How about you settle on a story?" she snapped, stepping away from him, but he followed her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"Listen to me!"

"I listened to you enough, thanks," she growled, attempting to pull away, but his grip tightened. "Optimus--!"

"Elita, listen!"

"Let go! For the love of Primus, _I'm on duty_!" she hissed, feeling curious optics upon them. "This is ridiculous, you're the Pit-slagging commander!"

She'd struck a nerve. He released her quickly, stepping away. She folded her arms over her chest, breathing deeply.

"I apologize, Sergeant," he said dully. "That was uncalled for."

"Offense forgiven, sir. No—permanent—harm done."

"In light of recent events, Sergeant, I'd like to have a word with you. On the…the roof, tonight, if you don't mind. No, don't answer yet," he said quickly, as she opened her mouth. "Just…please, Elita. Please."

"…Your offer will be taken into consideration, Commander," she said stiffly, and he sighed. It was better than nothing. "If you'll excuse me, I can just see another dismantled interface appliance over there…"

She stiffened as he stepped closer to her, removed his mouthplate, and kissed her gently. He pulled away before she could protest and turned curtly on his heel, replacing his mask as he strode from the firing range.

She very near exploded right then and there. _The nerve of that guy,_ she thought furiously, storming over to the recruit in question. _The very nerve of him! That chauvinistic, boorish, absolutely idiotic Pit-spawn!_

The strange thing was that as Optimus Prime moved down the hall, he was mentally berating himself using very similar adjectives. He felt stupid. Kissing her like that…_What the Pit was I thinking?_ he wondered, shaking his head in exasperation. If anything, that would make her even angrier…funny, he was losing his potential sparkmate within a day of getting her.

"Hey, you look down," Jazz commented, quickening his pace to catch up with his commander. "What's on your mind, Slick?"

"Slick?"

"Sorry. Are you worried about something?"

"…Femmes are insane."

"True that, my brother," Jazz agreed, bobbing his head up and down. "Listen, Magnus and I were gonna kick it at Maccadam's today after shift. You up for it?"

"You're going to a _bar_?"

"We won't get drunk, I promise."

Optimus sighed and shook his head. "Do whatever you want. But I won't be joining you."

"Aw, killjoy. Ya sure?"

"Quite sure, thank you."

Jazz shrugged. "Suit yourself. Good luck with the femme thing, I gotta roll…Prowl wanted my help with something or other."

"Have fun."

"Hey, thanks, man!"

Optimus rolled his optics as the wild mech took off, singing loudly. Elita was mad. Elita was seriously slagged off at him. He sighed and leaned against the wall, taking his optics offline as he did so. If he was perfectly honest with himself, he found that he didn't want to lose her. Not at all. His Spark screamed at him to turn right around, march back to the firing range, and use force if necessary. But his pride—and his conscience—told him otherwise. He was a commander. She was a sergeant. In the end—and his Spark sank at the thought—wasn't it better this way? If they went their separate ways, if they said it had all been a fluke, that it wasn't real…

Even if it was.

He lifted his optics at the heavy footsteps that approached him. Ironhide paused in the hall, one optic ridge cocked as he gazed at his young protégé.

"Now there's ah broken Spahk if Ah evah saw one," the trigger-happy mech said softly, his expression sympathetic. "Ya need some time ou', Boss. Yer comin' with Prowl an' me tanigh', got it?"

"…Sure," Prime replied dully, not offering any argument. He somehow knew that Elita would not be on the roof that night. "May I ask where we're going?"

"Anywhere, bud. Anywhere but here."

Optimus smiled slightly. "Sounds good."

_**Several Days Later**_

_**Iacon, Fifth Division**_

The chances of a peace treaty were now absolute zip. Even if the Decepticons came crawling back on their hands and knees, it wasn't going to work. Not now. The fury that blinded each and every Autobot soldier on the field that day was white-hot, searing, impenetrable. It was rage beyond rage, hate beyond hate, agony beyond agony. It ripped at every Spark, it tore through all armor. On this day, there was no thought. Terminate. Terminate the Decepticons. The silent cry, screamed by every Autobot Spark, drove them on.

On the day that the Decepticon forces attacked and destroyed the Sparkling Sector, the war began.

It was chaos. It was madness. Soldiers tore across the decimated highways, sparklings ran from burning buildings, half in tears and the other half eerily silent. Decepticons ran amuck, destroying anything that happened to be in their path. Autobots chased them, blind with rage, raring to tear them apart.

A Decepticon by the name of Deathtrap squawked in protest as he was thrown bodily into a building. With a crash he hit the ground, sending debris flying into the air. It rained down as his opponent advanced on him, silent and furious.

"Hey—we can talk about this," Deathtrap said weakly, his Spark pulsing quickly in fear as the giant mech came closer, his blue optics fire upon his face.

"No," Optimus Prime replied harshly, lifting his personal firearm. "We can't."

He fired, and Deathtrap's Spark extinguished in a matter of seconds. The commander lowered the gun, panting very slightly. This was insanity. The Sparkling Sector—destroyed. Thousands of young ones—gone. And any survivors would be dead after the battle was through.

He felt small hands touch his foot. Looking down, his Spark clenched painfully at the baby blue optics that gazed pleadingly up at him, silent, begging to be saved. He crouched on one knee until he was face to face with the sparkling. The poor thing was injured, its left leg brutally mangled. Energon leaked from the severed circuits, and sparks flew across its exterior. The sparkling abruptly fell, unable to keep itself stable anymore. Small whimpers echoed from its voice processor as it struggled to pull itself up.

"Shhh," Optimus soothed, running gentle fingers down the side of the sparkling's head. "It's alright, little one. It's alright…"

He lifted the small mech into his arms, where it cuddled deep into his chassis, releasing a fast set of clicks and chirps. Without warning, the building behind them burst into flames, sending shrapnel flying. Optimus wrapped his massive arms more tightly around the sparkling, shielding it as debris flew through the air. Turning slowly, his Spark clenched painfully hard—though whether in fear or anger he couldn't be sure.

No, it was surely anger. Fear for the safety of the innocent sparkling cradled in his chassis, but rage, hatred directed at the mech that now advanced on him.

"Megatron," he growled, glancing around frantically for a place to hide the little one. He jumped at a tap on his shoulder.

"Ah'll take 'im," Ironhide said quietly, holding out his arms. "Chromia's hidin' all th' suhvivahs."

Optimus nodded and transferred the sparkling into his weapons officer's arms, and Ironhide took off, glancing worriedly over his shoulder as he went.

"So I suppose I should consider the peace treaty null and void," Prime said smoothly, facing his little brother.

"I suppose you should. Unless you'd really like to take the femme as your sparkmate."

"No, thank you."

Megatron cocked an optic ridge. "Oh? Have you another in mind? How about the femme who shielded you when I was on base?"

"Don't be so quick to jump to conclusions," Optimus snapped, but immediately realized he had responded too quickly. Megatron's optics glinted; he knew.

"My goal is still to capture the Ellipses program," he said silkily, and pulled his fusion cannon from subspace. "But I wouldn't mind having your corpse along with it!"

Optimus moved, and the ground where he had been standing nanoseconds before was instantly vaporized. He rushed forward before Megatron could readjust the weapon, hitting his brother hard in the chassis and sending them both to the ground. He felt a claw-hand close around his throat; with a grunt, he brought his feet upward, catching the warlord in the abdomen. Megatron let loose an almost barbaric roar and released his brother, and in the brief span of time in between Optimus brought a fist upward to smash against Megatron's jaw.

They rolled away from one another, Megatron hissing and Optimus panting. "Listen to me," the Autobot commander said desperately. "It's not too late, little brother. You won't be welcomed back warmly, but…you can still come back."

Megatron released a harsh, short laugh. "Come back? Come back to you? Come back to living in your shadow, the helpless little puppet? No thank you."

"Megatron, please—"

"You can die for all I care!" Megatron howled, suddenly enraged. "You can die! Go to Pit! Rot in the crevices of nothingness! I don't care anymore! Just—just die!"

Optimus jumped to his feet and caught his younger brother's fist seconds before it collided with his face. Megatron swiped out with his free hand, towards Prime's freshly healed side; Optimus drew away, the claws barely grazing his armor. He lunged forward and seized Megatron's arm.

"Please," he whispered, his face inches from his thrashing brother's. "Don't do this, Megatron."

"You can't convince me otherwise," Megatron snarled, glaring hatred at his sibling. "I'm beyond saving and you know it, big brother. You'd do well to sign me on as your enemy and nothing else. That's all I think of you anymore."

"…You called me big brother, though."

The Decepticon's optics widened, then his lips drew back into a snarl. He dove forward, tackled over his adversary, and both fell heavily into the building behind Prime, crashing through the wall. The building trembled, tremors shook its frame as the two thrashed at its base. Then, with an almighty creak, it began to fall apart.

Nearby, Prowl turned at the sound of crashing metal to see a building collapse upon his commander. Optimus looked up only long enough to see its foundations coming apart. Deciding there was no time to run, he pushed away from Megatron and curled into a protective position as it came down, four walls and all. The Decepticon's infuriated roar was all that was heard before the thunderous crashes drowned even that out.

"Optimus!" Prowl shouted, his Spark pulsing madly as he rushed to the fallen building. Ironhide was at his side in a second, already pulling away the splintered steel. They both jumped at a thud a ways to their left; turning, they saw Optimus Prime lifting a large pillar away, grunting from the effort.

"Ow," he commented, finally gaining his balance and throwing it aside. It hit the ground with a crash. "That was messy."

"Thank Primus," Prowl sighed, as he and Ironhide scampered over the debris to their leader's side. "You're not hurt, are you?"

"No, I think I'm okay…but that's a perfectly new paintjob put to waste," Optimus replied morosely. He turned and squinted across the rest of the fallen building, searching for some sign of life. "Megatron…?"

"Sir..." Prowl began, but Prime had already set off, bent close to the ground as he searched the area for his brother. With a sigh, the second in command followed, and after a few moments of grumbling Ironhide mimicked him.

Optimus paused as a large piece of molten steel twitched. Glancing over his shoulder and confirming that his comrades were far away, he bent and, with an almighty heave, pulled it aside.

His Spark screamed against his chest as he gazed upon his little brother's broken body, the pool of energon growing steadily below the warlord. A low hiss erupted from Megatron's voice processor as his gaze found Prime's.

"Stay away from me," he growled, but Optimus crouched forward nevertheless, his optics set and determined.

"Call of this rebellion, Megatron," Prime whispered, placing a hand upon his sibling's shoulder. "Call it off. Come back."

"I'd rather die," Megatron snarled, his optics blazing in hatred. "I'd rather die than go back to you weaklings. It's over. Never again shall I be forced to walk in your shadow. Never again will you look at me as anything other than an equal."

"You've always been my equal," Optimus said forcefully, his optics pleading. "Megatron, please—"

"Shut up!" the Decepticon roared, his fangs bared. "Shut up! Stay away from me! You stupid Pit-spawn! Stay away! Don't touch me! Shut up! SHUT UP!"

Prime bowed his head and removed his hand, then stood slowly. He paused, gazing down at his screaming brother. Megatron was in hysterics, obviously losing it. Energon pumped from his wounds, but he paid it no heed, thrashing wildly upon the ground.

"DON'T LEAVE ME!" he shrieked abruptly, stopping Optimus cold before the commander could turn away. "DON'T LEAVE ME, OPTIMUS! DON'T LEAVE ME! DON'T ABANDON ME, DON'T LEAVE ME BEHIND AGAIN! DON'T DON'T DON'T DON'T—"

"He is experiencing an overload in his cerebral processor," Ratchet's quiet voice came from behind. "We need to leave."

"But…" Optimus trailed off, his optics locked upon his weakening little brother. "Ratchet…I can't…"

"Optimus," Ratchet said gently, placing a hand upon his protégé's shoulder. "It is over. The war is here, it cannot be stopped now. You must let him go."

Prime swallowed hard. The memory burned hard in his mind; the sparkling who had followed him everywhere, the youngling who had trained under him, the strong young mech who had so helpfully guided his older brother as time went on. To leave it all behind, to leave his little brother upon the ground, to abandon him now, at the very end…

"Let him go."

His Spark aching, Optimus Prime turned and walked away, Megatron's screams echoing in his audio receptors.

_**Da Roof**_

"…Hey."

Optimus looked up. Elita swallowed nervously and turned her gaze away. "Can I…sit down?"

"…Yeah."

She plopped down at his side, lost for words. He turned back to the horizon, breathing in the silence. Cybertron's great steel face was turning slowly from the sun, casting the skies into violent golden light. It was much like the very first night they'd spent on the roof together.

"I know today was hard for you," Elita said quietly. "I just…I wanted you to know you were really incredible. You're way stronger than anyone gives you credit for."

"Thank you."

She looked over at him and lifted a hand to stroke his cheek gently. "Hey. I want to make it okay between us. I recently decided I hate it when you're mad at me."

"I wasn't mad at you," he said immediately, looking at her. "I could never get mad at you."

She smiled and snuggled closer to him, resting her head against his shoulder. "So he's your little brother, huh?"

"…Yes."

"I'm sorry."

"That makes two of us," he replied quietly, wrapping an arm around her waist and hugging her close. "That makes two of us."

. E N D . T R A N S M I S S I O N .

**Wow, eight chapters complete! Thanks for the fantastic reviews that followed chapter seven, it was really nice. And I don't really think any of you are picky, I was half kidding. Please don't hesitate to point anything out that you think needs to be changed, for I take it all into very careful consideration. Often critical comments will help me make the story even better, so keep them coming—just throw a nice word in at the end if you would.**

**I can only hope the breakdown of Megatron in this chapter is well recieved--I figured that since I portrayed an immature, insecure side of Optimus I could do the same for his younger brother. So Megatron is truly the child in this series...weird.**

**Anyway, thanks for all the incredible support you've given the story. Please enjoy, please review, in that order.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

_Plenoptic _

**And here we are, one away from ten! With the completion of chapter eight I kinda figured…uh, what now? Optimus and Elita have truly found each other, the war has begun… now there's really no more beginnings, there's just…the story. So…is this series winding down or…or what? It feels so short…maybe it's time for some serious fluffage. Or I could listen to the public…if you have any suggestions for the continuation of this story line, please drop a review saying so, and I'll take all of them into due consideration.**

**Ah, another hailstorm of reviews! This made me really happy. And not any bashing, really…apparently some of you were confused by Megatron's meltdown. The truth is I was venting there. As I write this series I find a kindred spirit in Megatron…and with this screaming fit scene I found it was a good way to minimize my own screwed up feelings. So thanks to all of you who said nothing about it, and thanks to all of you who did. I appreciate it equally.**

**That being said, please enjoy, please review, in that order.**

**NOTE: Iacon has ten divisions.**

**NOTE 2: Remember, Soundwave is Soundwave in Shockwave's body due to misinformation in earlier chapters.**

_Everybody/ Put up your hands say/ I don't wanna be alone I don't wanna be alone/_

_Feel the beat now/ if you've got nothin left say/ I don't wanna be alone I don't wanna be alone/_

_Bring it up now/ you've got a reason to live say/ I don't wanna be alone I don't wanna be alone/_

_Feeling good now/ don't be afraid to get down say/ I don't wanna be alone I don't wanna be alone_

_--Good Charlotte's "Dance Floor Anthem"--_

. B E G I N . T R A N S M I S S I O N .

And so the war began. As it dragged on, the skirmishes turned to battles. Younglings were turned into mechs. Friendly taunts turned to flying fists. Cadets became officers in such rapid procession that soon the military had almost too many commanding officers and not enough grunts to push around.

Those that already were officers advanced faster and faster, growing up the ranks and leaving trails of smoke behind them. One femme in particular advanced fast, very soon finding herself within Prime's inner circle. Of course, her trusted position wasn't purely a result of her high rank.

It wasn't just Elita. War had also changed the young mech she'd taken as her mate. Optimus Prime had grown drastically in the few months since the beginning of the war. His mate served as a constant source of support, the scar in his side a constant reminder of his need to protect her. His older comrades treated him less and less like an adolescent and more and more like the adult he'd become. His age mattered little anymore; he'd seen far more than any mech his age was ever meant to see, and it had abolished what little childishness had still hunkered in his mind.

All immaturity gone, Optimus Prime was stepping up to the plate. The war was knocking on his door, and he was letting it in. The peace treaty was forgotten, or more appropriately destroyed. As in ripped in half. And then into fourths. And then eighths.

"And with it now in sixteenths, I put my Spark to rest," Elita said, dropping the tiny bits of paper onto the floor. "_Take a Decepticon femme as your sparkmate_ my aft. What a load of slag, they should've known it would never work."

"Pity, though, she was awfully easy on the optics," Optimus mused, but flinched at the look she threw him and amended quickly, "but awfully yappy. Good Primus, could that femme talk. She would've driven me insane."

"Yeah, that's what I thought you said," Elita growled, while their comrades sniggered.

The command center was a busy place nowadays. It was most often occupied by the commander himself, accompanied by Ironhide, Prowl, Ratchet, sometimes Jazz, and always Elita. The femme had quickly made a name for herself, rising fast to the rank of captain alongside Ironhide and Ratchet. Optimus (as his rank could not be raised any higher) had quickly established supporters within the High Council…somehow he'd forgiven their previous attempts to marry him off to Moonracer.

Speaking of whom. The femme had appeared on the base's doorstep within a week of the war's official start, begging to see Optimus. He'd permitted her entrance, and upon finding him in his quarters she'd promptly insisted that she be allowed to join the military. He hadn't argued, much to Elita's disgust, and enlisted her as an officer right off the bat. There was no time to mess with recruits; what they needed most was battle-ready soldiers.

"Optimus, you are going to love me for this," Chromia gushed, bounding into the room with such velocity that a few wandering sergeants were forced to take refuge behind Ironhide until she calmed down.

"Why is that?" Optimus asked pleasantly, seeing Elita steam just a little bit. My, she was jealous nowadays.

"Because I got them!"

"Got what?"

"_Them_, I got _them_!"

"Elaborate."

"The blueprints, aft shaft!" she said excitedly, and they were so stunned by her accomplishment that they completely overlooked that she had just verbally bashed her commanding officer.

"You got them?" Elita blurted, shocked, and Chromia threw a folder at her.

"I said that, like, five million times already! They're of the Decepticon stronghold in Iacon, fifth division. And then I found some battle plans for a siege on the third, fourth, and sixth divisions. I guess they're trying to keep the bases covered or whatever…"

"Chromia, I could just kiss you," Optimus practically purred, then added, "but just kidding."

"Bummer," Chromia sighed, but grinned when Elita scowled at her. "Primus, girl, you need to chill out. As much as many of us would like to, no one is moving in on your mech."

"Well, I know that, but whether or not he does is debatable," Elita replied in an undertone, and both giggled when Optimus threw them a questioning look.

"So, wha', we go in an' bash 'em, righ'?" Ironhide suggested, his arm cannons humming as he observed the blueprints. "Look, they've got ah major weakness in th' left flank here…"

"We don't have the man power to conduct an invasion," Prowl countered, picking up the battle plans. "I suggest we strengthen our forces in the designated areas."

"Agreed," Optimus said, nodding. "Ironhide, you can take a force of twenty into the third division. Ratchet and Jazz, take the same number and head into the fourth. Prowl, take from thirty to fifty and establish defenses around the southern perimeter of the sixth. Once you've all arrived, send in reports immediately and await further orders. If any forces that outnumber your own come your way, radio in for reinforcements. I'll send Jetfire and the Aerialbots and our ground units directly afterwards. You depart tomorrow morning, at five hundred hours."

"Five hundred hours?" Jazz groaned. "That's evil, Boss, purely evil."

"Well, I do have a reputation to protect," Optimus said smugly.

"Hey, we're over here lacking orders," Chromia piped up, indicating herself and Elita, who nodded her agreement. "Order us around, you're hurting our feelings."

Prime smiled slightly, and Elita detected it in his optics immediately though his mask was on. "Never fear, I wouldn't forget you. Chromia, find Ultra Magnus and Kup. You three take a task force of ten to the eighth division and ensure that no rebel forces have invaded its perimeter. Radio in your status, and we'll begin a chain of ten going back and forth."

"Yessir," she said brightly, mock saluting.

"And, last but certainly not least, Elita and I will take a force of fifteen or so and patrol the circumference of the seventh division. We'll try to foretell any upcoming attacks and get word out to all of you should any threatening situation arise." He glanced at her, and she nodded her approval. "Excellent. Once again—five hundred hours, sharp. You have until then to assemble your forces as well. Roll out!"

They departed quickly, Jazz still grumbling about the early rising time. Chromia almost stuck around, but at seeing Elita approach her mate excused herself quickly, leaving the command center virtually empty.

"We should probably move out as well," Optimus sighed, stretching his sore joints. "We've got six hours to find fifteen able bodied mechs, and then we've got to leave early…"

Elita wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him gently. "And whose fault is that?"

"Mine," he said grudgingly, removing his mask to allow his jaw a little bit of leisure. "But the sooner we're out of here, the better. Who knows how recent those battle plans are. The invasion force could be moving already…oh Primus, that's a frightening thought…"

"You worry too much," she scolded gently, before standing up on her toes to plant a gentle kiss upon his lips. He bent over slightly, and, in one fluid motion, swept her into his arms bridal-style. "Whoa!" she yelped, instinctively grabbing his chest plates. "Optimus--! Hey, put me down, ya stupid aft!"

"Hey, is that nice?"

"I don't give a slag if it's nice or not, just put me the Pit down!"

"You know, most femmes would be in swooning fits right now."

"I'm not most femmes, you chauvinist!"

"True," he sighed, smiling. "Still, here I am extending an invitation to my private, personal quarters and here you are refusing. It's quite degrading, Elita, truly it is."

"Well, too bad. And come _on,_ we've got a mission here, Optimus! A mission _you_ assigned to us! Like you said, we've got six hours to organize our force, and all of your other little buddies are out there already picking out all the good ones…"

He turned the corner down his hallway, smirking. "They know better than to weed out all the 'good ones' before I've had my fair shot."

"Yeah, you say that," she grumbled, as he opened his door with some difficulty, as he had not yet put her down. "You speak with confidence, but your optics tell me otherwise. You and I both know that Jazz, at least, is gonna jump on all the highest ranking officers…"

"His mission won't require high-ranking officers. He knows that, and should he forget, Ratchet's there," Optimus replied smoothly, closing the door with his foot and easing her onto his recharge bed.

"Yeah, but—"

Her words were snuffed out as his jaw clamped upon hers, his kiss passionate and demanding. She responded briefly and attempted to pull away, but he trapped her once more, his lips lifting and coming back down to caress hers. With a moan she allowed her tongue to find his, chasing her elusive adversary into his mouth. His body settled upon her, his hands suggestively clutching at her hips as both slipped into blissful loss of self-control. She ran her fingers lightly down his sides, sending him into violent shudders as his interface systems kicked in. Funny—they were running ahead of schedule today. Not about to be outdone, his hand wandered to her inner thigh…

A knock echoed from the door. With a frustrated groan Optimus rolled off of his mate, sitting up and rubbing his forehead. Smiling, Elita lifted herself onto her haunches and wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders, hugging him gently.

"Seven out of ten," she murmured, and kissed his cheek before hopping off the recharge bed and opening the door.

"Uh," Ratchet said blankly, and she laughed.

"I was just heading out, Ratch, you go ahead."

"Um…sure…thank you…"

He stepped aside and she left, humming very slightly. The medic closed the door and glanced at Prime expectantly.

"You just cost me a seven point interface, Ratchet," Optimus sighed. "_Seven_."

Ratchet grinned and laughed widely. "Seven on the Elita scale, huh? What's your record?"

"A four."

"Oh. Well, I _am_ sorry, then, but I think you should get a jump on assembling your forces."

"Huh? Why?"

"Because Jazz is taking all the good ones."

Optimus almost wanted to slap himself. Oh, the irony. "So why aren't you there stopping him?"

"I'm here telling you."

"Why did I need to know?"

"Because while he was doing that you were here playing with your mate. Who, it seems, is now doing your duty. So aft off the recharge bed, young one, and get a move on."

Optimus scowled and stood up, stretching his sore joints. "Primus almighty. I swear, a mech just can't catch a break around here."

"Well, as soon as you get back, there'll be plenty of time for making little sparklings," Ratchet said mildly, a rare smile tugging at his lips.

Optimus merely glared.

_**Iacon**_

_**Outskirts of the Seventh Division**_

"Nothing so far," Elita muttered into her comm. link. "Optimus, how are you doing?"

"Just fine. All's quiet, and…yes, Springer's in recharge."

"Well, kick him or something."

"Maybe I will…"

Elita looked up, frowning as the unmistakable sound of an air force met her audio receptors. "Optimus, I think we've got company."

"How many?" he asked, his deep voice sharp.

"I can't see the opposition just yet…but they're definitely here. I'm hiding all units, prepare to mobilize."

"Agreed. Watch your back out there."

"You too."

The comm. link went off, and she signaled to the seven bots she had with her to stay low. A cadet named Firestar glanced at her worriedly, and Elita smiled reassuringly, familiar with the chaotic feelings only a grunt was capable of experiencing. Of course, if she remembered correctly, her fears had been eased due to the constant presense of her commander at her side—but now wasn't the time to be reminiscing.

For Soundwave had just arrived.

"Detected: Autobot forces," he droned loudly, and both Elita and Firestar grimaced. They were looking possible death straight in the face--and it had a monotone. "Mission: obliterate."

"Open fire!" Elita shouted, the urgency in her voice snapping her soldiers out of their somewhat surprised state.

Hers was the first finger on a trigger, the short energon blast catching Soundwave on the side of the head. He staggered and released an angry whir, turning to see who had attacked him. Elita stood up to her full height and beckoned him forward.

"C'mon, you stupid piece of shrapnel. Come tangle with a Cybertronian bad aft."

"Identified: creation name ARIEL," Soundwave said dully, his one optic locked upon her slender form. "Mission: capture."

"Huh?" was all Elita managed before Soundwave came at her, his hands outstretched and his weapon systems crackling. She leapt back and to the side, and he flew past her. In mid-motion she fired a single energon charge, hitting him in the side and toppling him before he'd even fully recovered from his miss.

"Open! Fire!" she said loudly, and her seven troops all jumped and fired their guns simultaneously, yet so poorly that she actually had to dodge a wild shot. Had they been in training she would've taken a few minutes to chew him out, but this was a slaggin' battlefield and Soundwave was getting up again.

The ground a little to the unit's right exploded, entire plates of steel ripped from the planetary surface and tossed into the air. Two mechs dropped dead on the spot from the sheer shockwaves, and another collapsed as his systems went into stasis lock. Elita squinted through the resulting debris and tilted her head upwards to see a jet roar overhead, dropping another missile as it passed.

"Move!" Elita roared, grabbing a gaping Firestar by the arm and dragging her away as the second missile found its mark, taking out another two soldiers in the process. Panting very slightly, the femmes got to their feet, and Elita took a moment to access the damage. Four dead, one wounded, and three still standing, herself and Firestar included. Soundwave appeared to be busy, trying to recover from the earlier damage he'd taken as well as the rising dust and debris. With a quick hand signal Elita beckoned her companion forward, and they crept past the frantically beeping Decepticon to crouch beside the indisposed Autobot.

"Young," Elita commented quietly, waving a hand over his optics, which were still online. "He's out cold. Firestar, you stay here, try to get him back online. Do whatever you have to. Let me take care of—"

She broke off as a single, incredibly high-pitched note screamed through the air. Her audio receptors wailed, unable to process it properly. Elita swooned slightly, momentarily dizzy as she stood up. As the effect faded and she began to regain herself, a second frequency tore the atmosphere apart, radical and painfully high. Firestar clamped her hands around her head with a strangled cry, and Elita felt her knees buckle. Her optics flickered, and the knife-edge of panic bit into her. She tried desperately to stomp it out, but a third note followed after its predecessors…Firestar slipped sideways, the stasis lock settling in…Elita felt herself hit the ground as though from very far away, her optics went offline…dimly, her shattered audio receptors managed to compensate the smug comment as the Decepticon picked her up…

"Mission: complete."

_**Same location**_

_**Fifteen earth minutes later…**_

"She's alive," Inferno reported, lifting Firestar into his arms. "In some kind of stasis lock, but she's alive…love, can ya hear me? Firestar?"

"Wheeljack, radio in to Jetfire," Optimus ordered, turning to his officer. "He's on standby. Tell him we need emergency transport for two injured."

"Yes, sir."

The mech moved away to deliver the transmission, and Optimus turned to peer out at the seventh division's urban area, with its towering buildings and bright lights. Eight warriors had been deployed to this area. Seven had been found, most dead and few alive. And one missing…

"Elita?" he tried into his comm. link, searching desperately for her frequency. He received only static. "Elita?" he repeated, his voice pleading. No response. The grief welled up fast and hard, swallowing his spark whole. He wanted to curl into a ball and let it pour out, but he wasn't _that_ young. Further more, he was a commander. Yes, his mate was gone, MIA, but he had to keep it together.

"Hey," a silky voice sounded loudly, and Prime spun around, startled, to see a relatively small mech standing not a hundred yards away, smirking. "I'll tell ya where your mate is," he said, grinning widely. "For a price?"

"You saw where they took Elita?" Optimus demanded, facing the stranger squarely.

The mech laughed. "Maybe I did. Maybe I didn't. How much are you willing to pay?"

Optimus stared. "You…you want money?" he asked incredulously.

"Yup. The name's Swindle. I'll tell ya anything for the appropriate amount. So how about you pay up and I'll tell ya where they took the little lady?"

"Or," Ultra Magnus growled, reaching around and grabbing the smaller mech by the neck plates, then lifting him high into the air, "how about I rip you limb from limb right here and now and we'll see what our price comes to then."

"Magnus!" Optimus gasped, shocked at his comrade's sudden appearance. "Where…?"

"Eighth division," Chromia broke in, appearing at his side and smiling brightly. "Right where you told us to be. That Firestar chicka sent out a distress signal before she went offline, and we picked it up. Happy to see us?"

"So much," Optimus sighed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and hugging her briefly. She giggled and pushed him off, grinning.

"Hey, hey," Swindle was saying, his voice oddly high pitched. "I'm a reasonable guy. Pay up a couple hundred energon cubes and we'll call it a done deal…" he squawked as Magnus shook him roughly and plowed on, "Okay, okay! We'll make it an even hundred—aaah!—okay, how about fifty? No? Thirty-five! Twenty? Ten, five—okay, okay, I'll tell you whatever you want, just don't kill me!"

"Whatever we want," Magnus confirmed, his optics blazing, and dropped Swindle bodily to the ground when the smaller mech nodded frantically.

"Where did they take Elita?" Optimus demanded, as he and Chromia joined their comrade.

"So that's her name," Swindle said fiendishly, snickering. "Man, she was a real babe. Wouldn't mind sharing a recharge bed with _her_ some time…"

Magnus calmly pulled his gun from subspace and trained it on the Decepticon, his face set and determined. "Head or gut, Optimus?"

"Hey, it was just a joke," Swindle said quickly, holding up his hands. "Just a joke. I was kidding. She's Prime's plaything, I get it…ow, don't kick me!…I'm sorry, okay? She's not a plaything…"

"Where did they take her?!" both Optimus and Magnus roared.

"Kaon!" Swindle squawked, trembling. "A couple hundred miles from here! Megatron wants the Ellipses program, so he's going to try and extract it from her!"

"How?" Optimus demanded, his spark throbbing with fury.

"Don't ask me, that's a scientist's forte!" Swindle snapped. "All I know is that the guy is determined, he really wants it bad! And…I dunno, something tells me he wants _her_ just the same!"

Chromia's jaw dropped. "Oh, _gross! _How fast can we get to Kaon?"

She looked at Optimus and couldn't help but smile at his expression, at the readiness of his optics. When it came down to his femme, the speed limit could go to Pit.

How fast could they get to Kaon?

If Elita was involved, _fast._

. E N D . T R A N S M I S S I O N .

**Chapter nine complete, and what a chapter!…Okay, so nothing much happened, but the stage has been set for something to happen! Please continue on, exciting things on the horizon! Please enjoy, please review, in that order.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

_Plenoptic _

**And here we are at Chapter Ten! A true, true landmark this time! For those of you who don't keep up with my constantly changing bio (my last one was pretty slagged up) I've been saving all of the New Beginnings chapters to floppies…yes, my folks are technologically impaired, how kind of you to notice! As it were, ours is one of the first home computers…and now I'm nauseated, so let's move right along. I had two and a half chapters saved to floppy (10, 11, and ½ of 12) when my afthole computer suddenly announced that it could no longer read the material on the floppy. Even my father's work computer couldn't restore it. So here I am, retyping the mission, the rescue, the recovery…and on and on and on…**

**So after days of slacking I'm ready to give you the story you're all waiting so patiently for! Mostly it's because you've all been reviewing…thank you all so much! **

**One review asked me if I was aware of the existence of the Transformers Monopoly…and yes, I OWN IT!!!!!!!! My character? A Mr. Optimus Prime, of course! However, the game sports a troubling lack of Elita One…but Alpha Trion is on one of the chance cards! A funny story about one of my games against my familia at the end of this chapter…anyways.**

**Please enjoy, please review, in that order.**

**NOTE: The usage of Hot Rod in Chapter Nine has been changed to Springer. For reasons suggested by a fan…yeah, consider Hot Rod nonexistent at this point.**

**NOTE 2: Many of you inquired as to why and how Optimus and Elita were already mates. Welcome to my slagged up TF universe. In my universe, there is a difference between being "bonded" and being "mates." Orion Pax and Ariel were "mates." Optimus and Elita are "bonded." Capice?**

. B E G I N . T R A N S M I S S I O N .

"Jetfire…anything?"

"Not yet, sir. I'm still looking, though."

Optimus Prime fought down the urge to kick something, or someone, very, very hard. He fought down the urge to curl up into a ball upon the hard ground and scream until his voice capacitator went out. Instead of doing any of the aforementioned, the bold commander took a deep breath. "Thank you, Jetfire. Keep on it."

"Yessir."

The comm. link closed, and the Autobot lowered his head, focusing his optics upon a jagged crevice in the ground at his feet. It was something to look at, something to see—anything to keep him preoccupied would do just fine. Anything to keep from facing the cold reality that the femme he cared so deeply for was in the claw-like hands of his malicious, slightly insane enemy…

"Optimus, you may find this interesting," Silverbolt said, opening his comm. link to the leader.

"Yes?" Prime inquired, tipping his head back and squinting his optics in hopes of catching sight of the elevation-wary Aerialbot.

"The atmosphere in this area that I'm searching is fairly still; there are actually some sound frequencies still hanging in the air."

"Whoa."

"Whoa is right. I'm not sure, but there's one unfamiliar frequency that I'm constantly picking up. It's low, it's quiet, as if whoever was emitting it was subconscious. Think this could be our missing femme?"

"Might be. Could you transmit?"

"Sure."

Optimus closed off his optics, his spark searing in pain as the soft frequency sounded over his comm. link. It was Elita all right. He'd recognize her voice from a million miles away. Not only that, but…her soft utterance was one of unmistakable familiarity…how many times had she murmured it to him, how many times had his own nomenclature caressed his audio receptors as Elita whispered to him in the dark? The frequency, though low and mumbled, came through the link clear as day:

"Optimus…" Kaon 

_**Science Department**_

"I can't do it."

The sulky Decepticon leader lifted his head slowly, his red optics narrowing as he drank in the sight of his nervous scientist. "I beg your pardon?"

Starscream drew a slow, shaky breath, but somehow managed to keep his voice steady. "I said I can't do it. The program, I don't think I can extract it."

The fury threatened to explode, that much was obvious. However, Megatron, being the calm, controlled being he usually was, inhaled deeply, his nasal plates widening to allow the shallow atmosphere passage into his wind systems. "And just why is that, Starscream?"

The scientist nearly cried. Stubborn, determined, self-sufficient, independent Starscream was one of the few Decepticon rebels who didn't fear their dictator-like leader. However, much of this confidence was probably due to the fact that Starscream was also one of the few Decepticon rebels who knew what he was doing. As a scientist he clearly excelled past all the rest in terms of intelligence, Barricade and Megatron notwithstanding, and when he was given a job he did it. This, on the other hand, was different. This was a challenge he doubted he could meet, but he didn't trust Megatron to be sympathetic.

"Her system," Starscream mumbled, indicating the unconscious femme upon his examination bed, "is unlike anything I've ever encountered before. Her hard drive is locked in all sorts of ways, all sorts of firewalls and viruses and digital codes are protecting it. And…from the evidence you provided, sir…this Ellipses program seems almost as though it could be…_biological._ I mean, it may exist in her hard drive, but…its basic build could be coded in her very spark."

"…So you are telling me that you cannot, in fact, extract the Ellipses program?" Megatron said coolly, obviously struggling to maintain his patient façade.

Starscream moaned internally. "Yes, sir."

"So you are telling me that you cannot, in fact, even read her hard drive, thus you are unable to even, in fact, determine its location within her body?"

"Yes, sir, I'm afraid so."

"I'm not pleased, Starscream. I am not pleased at all," Megatron said icily, and the scientist felt his chances of survival slipping rapidly.

"Then let me offer you an alternative," Starscream suggested hurriedly, rushing over to his computer module and opening the files he'd spent most of his recharge hours poring over. "I discovered something about her creator…she was a project, code name Project ARIEL. He created her as a living capsule for the Ellipses program. Her creator's name is Alpha Trion…at present no one is aware of his coordinates, but…"

Starscream's lengthy explanation was cut off as Megatron stood slowly, opening his comm. link as he did so. "Barricade, come in."

"Right here, sir," came a gruff reply.

"There is a mech called Alpha Trion. His current whereabouts are unknown, and by my understanding we have no physical description of him. His affiliations, alliances, and other applicable synonyms of such relations are unknown. His protocol, registration number, and creator are unknown; his average health and status are also uncertain. We do not know his usual place of residence, nor do we have any evidence as to where he was last. Using the information I have just given you, I would like you to find him."

Barricade, many miles away, looked slowly up at Frenzy, who was goggling. "Yes sir," Barricade said weakly, closing the comm. link. "No problem."

"This is bull slag, 'Cade," Frenzy mumbled. "Megatron just gave us a whole paragraph full of _nothing_. How the Pit are we supposed to find this guy?"

"Use the information he just gave us, Frenz."

"Which was _nothing._"

"Well, this _is _Megatron we're talking about," Barricade said heavily, slipping off of his perch and disposing of the remnants of a bottleful of Maccadam's old oil (imported). "Best get to work, then."

_**Iacon**_

_**Sixth division**_

"So, do we got ah plan or wha'?"

"Somewhat."

"Not really what we were hoping to hear, Commander."

"If anyone has a plan, I'm completely obliged to listen," Optimus replied, spreading his arms wide in an expression of helplessness. He wanted to rescue his love more than anything in the universe, but that didn't mean he quite had the ability to figure out _how. _"Ideas?"

"How abou' we jus' go in an' blast 'em?" Ironhide suggested brightly, waving a hand around in the air, though his immature gesture earned him a sharp whack from Ratchet. "Ow! Ya lil' Pit-spawn…"

"Just going in and blasting them will get us all killed, Ironhide, and as heroic as that may be, heroism is often coupled with stupidity, and such is the case," Optimus said grimly. "Us being dead doesn't help Elita."

"There must be a way in without making a scene," Chromia muttered, poring over the computer console that stood in the corner of the conference room they currently occupied. "If I could just find blue prints or something…"

"Blueprints would be helpful," Prowl commented, though he frowned slightly. "We need to know our target area as well as possible. This is a stealth mission, and we're going to need our strongest out there. This is big, Optimus, you do realize that?" the second in command added hopefully, glancing in his leader's direction. "We are invading a Decepticon stronghold with a force of, what, ten or so?"

"I can't force any of you to do this," Prime said, looking just a tad frustrated. "This is strictly a volunteer mission. Anyone who wants to do this for reasons other than personal ones should just leave now."

"Would you, if only you were willing to go on?" Chromia asked quietly.

"I won't turn back," Optimus said firmly, turning to meet her gaze confidently. "I'm getting Elita back, even if it kills me."

"Then I'm coming too," Chromia smiled. "And Ironhide, by default."

"Fraggah."

"Nice talk, baby, nice talk…"

"Look, we're all in on this," Jazz said patiently, grinning cockily. "So let's just get a plan together and go kick some aft, okay?"

"There's a logical way to do this," Jetfire replied curtly, leaning over Chromia's shoulder. "We can't just rush in there based purely off of emotion."

"Of course not, Jet," Jazz enthused, his grin widening maliciously. "Optimus is rushing in based on testosterone."

"I swear one of these days I will bash your face in."

"I look forward to it."

_**Kaon**_

_**The Prison Hold**_

"Do whatever is necessary to extract it. Do whatever you must do…just don't kill her."

. T R A N S M I S S I O N . I N T E R R U P T E D .

…PLEASE REACIVATE LIFE SUPPORT SYSTEMS…


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

_Plenoptic _

**Hello again! I'm posting two chapters together, as they're both short. So consider it one mega-chapter. So the mission team has assembled, more or less, and Megatron is going to extremes to extract the Ellipses program…are the Autobots already too late? Please enjoy, please review, in that order.**

_I know you stay true when my world is false/ everything around's breaking down to chaos/_

_I only see you when my sight is lost/ everything around's breaking down to chaos/_

_Mute Math's "Chaos"_

. T R A N S M I S S I O N . R E S U M E D .

_Primus it hurt. She wanted to die. She wanted it to end. Everything blurred, nothing was real, sentences no longer had any structure everything was falling apart…chaos arose swallowed her whole and through it all she didn't know if she was screaming or if someone else was forcing the awful anguished cries upon her audio receptors and oh it hurt it hurt nothing made sense anymore the line between reality and make belief blurred what was there and what wasn't? she couldn't tell so confused too confused it hurt it hurt it hurt…_

_OPTIMUS._

_That one word rang through her mind she couldn't let it go she was terrified of letting it go it stood out against the anonymous screams OPTIMUS OPTIMUS OPTIMUS like it was her only shred of sanity left like that one word was all that would get her through it everything chaos…_

_**OPTIMUS.**_

**Kaon**

_**Outside Perimeter**_

At that moment, said savior was crouching in the shadows, his optics dimmed as they followed the slow, lazy procession of the sentries around the base's exterior. Lifting his head slightly, he squinted up to the balcony levels to see his loyal, trigger-happy friend easily silence the two guards above. He averted his gaze in time to see Prowl leap out from his right. Those poor sentries were going to be indisposed for some time.

"All clear," Prowl muttered into his comm. link. "Optimus, Ironhide, we're ready to go. Ultra Magnus, Kup, Chromia? You guys ready on your end?"

"We're good," Chromia replied, her voice nearly drowned out by the awful static their comms. were being subjected to. "Primus, Kaon gets bad reception. Where're Jetfire, Ratchet, and Jazz?"

"Converging on the roof, I believe," Optimus murmured, hunkering down in his hiding place as a few pedestrians wandered by. "How Ratchet and Jazz plan on getting up there I have no idea…"

"Well, whatever. Let's just get on with this, who knows what's going on in there."

"Agreed."

Optimus, Ironhide, and Prowl advanced fast, keeping to the shadows as they came up to the door. Prowl leaned over the number pad and inserted the code he'd gleaned from one of the unconscious guard's hard drives, and the doors slid open almost too slowly, releasing a highly audible hiss that made them all wince. Someone was bound to have heard that.

As a general rule, Kaon's main headquarters was a painfully bleak, desolate place. The halls consisted of purely unpainted steel, and were lit only by dim green lights that ran along the ceiling panels. The three large mechs moved down the main corridor as quietly as their huge frames allowed, though each footfall felt far too loud. Some stealth mission.

"Where would they be keeping her?" Prowl asked softly, his optics over bright in the poor light.

"Th' prison 'old, Ah'd imagine," Ironhide replied, and the other two jumped; the senior mech hadn't even tried to keep his voice down. "Pro'bly on th' basement levels."

"Radio Magnus's and Jetfire's teams and tell them," Optimus ordered. "We'll rendezvous down in that area…hopefully your guess is correct and—"

"Hey!"

They all turned, startled, to see ten or so Decepticon soldiers standing at the doors, open mouthed and staring.

"Au-Autobots!" one shouted loudly, waving his gun around in the air. Which, surprisingly, was much less threatening than actually shooting the thing. "All of you, stop right there!"

"Um, no?" Prowl suggested, and not a word more was exchanged before Ironhide's cannons came out and all Pit broke loose.

Megatron's quarters 

Megatron lifted his head, frowning, as the sounds of unmistakable gunfire rose from below. What the Pit were those aft shafts doing, holding target practice in the main hall? He sighed and shook his head; he was preoccupied. He'd let Soundwave deal with it…

He glanced over at the corner of his room as a dull moan sounded from his recharge bunk. Elita stirred uncomfortably, her fingers twitching as though searching for someone to hold on to. Megatron's optics narrowed slightly as he watched her toss and turn in her sleep, his audio receptors almost stinging as she continually mumbled the name of his elder brother.

Elita was a wreck. A determined, stubborn, loyal wreck, but a wreck all the same. Her armor had been all but stripped away in areas, and energon leaked from the wounds that marred her shapely body. Wires had been torn, circuits blown, energon spilled, screams released, but not once had she revealed any information. Not of the Ellipses program, not of Autobot Headquarters' inner workings, not of their plans, not of their classified ranks. And eventually, a frustrated Blackout had thrown in the towel. No method of torture he'd been sadistic enough to inflict had broken the femme's indomitable spirit.

So there Megatron sat, with nothing but a stubbornly silent femme to keep him company. And still—_still_—the Ellipses program eluded his clutches. He groaned loudly and leaned back in his chair, stretching the sore joints in his legs. He was running out of options. Barricade and Frenzy had not yet reported, so Alpha Trion's knowledge wasn't anything he could depend upon just yet. The thought that the ancient old mech was eluding two of his top officers was unnerving, but Megatron had rather come to expect failure before success when it came to his fickle comrades.

The warlord rose from his seat and approached the recharge berth, his expression stormy. Elita shuddered as he ran a claw-like finger down her beauteous face. _So cold…_ _his touch was so different from the warm caress that had always accompanied Optimus Prime's nervous half-smile…_

"You know," the warlord murmured, leaning close to whisper into her audio receptors. "I know you are well aware of the extraction methods of the Ellipses program. And I will force you to tell me."

Had she been conscious, Elita would've hit him in the face. Had she been conscious, she would've insisted that she had no idea how to remove the program. Had she been conscious, she would have told him to go eat slag, she didn't know a thing about the stupid time-stop program. Had she been conscious, she would've yelled at him, screamed abuse at him.

But she was not, and his declaration went unchallenged.

**_Kaon_**

_**Lower floors**_

The air was hot. Unbearably hot. It was smothering, it was suffocating. Coolant vents screamed in agony as each exhausted mech struggled to draw breath from the toxic air. Prowl fell hard, gasping, his vision clouding as the toxins surged through his systems…he felt large hands pull him up, drag him along as the small force beat it the Pit out of there. The Decepticons lagged behind, as they had been closer to the gas pipe Ironhide had been smart/stupid enough to kick until it cracked, releasing its poisonous contents.

They ran, Optimus half carrying, half dragging Prowl after them. Each and every one of them had just enough nerve to want to turn around and go back, go back and finish the battle they had unwittingly brought upon themselves, but none of them were _that_ stupid. But the feeling of retreat stung their pride, and the silence was a standing reminder.

"Stop," Optimus panted after ten minutes, and all abided without hesitation. Ratchet hurried over to his commander and relieved Prowl's weight from his shoulders; Optimus fell to his hands and knees, coughing to rid the last of the toxin from his air systems. "That was both the most brilliant and the most idiotic thing you have ever done," he informed Ironhide between gasps.

"Ah thought so," Ironhide laughed weakly, and Chromia rolled her optics.

"Is he okay?" Ultra Magnus puffed, indicating Prowl with a limp wave of his hand.

"I believe so," Ratchet replied, though he felt unsure of his diagnosis without his equipment with him. "We can't be sure until he comes back online. For now he is in a state of very near stasis lock, probably caused by an excess of toxin in his—"

"Ratch," Optimus moaned, lifting a hand to silence his medic. "Please. Not now."

"Right. Sorry."

"So, since that was a total bust, what do we do next?" Jetfire asked, sitting down and exhaling loudly. "She's not in the prison hold. Nice try, though, Ironhide. Must be a record—one guess and you almost get us all killed. It usually takes at least two or three."

"Shaddap."

"Both of you off your vocal capacitors, or I'll scrap you both right here and now," Optimus growled, and they fell silent. As did the rest of the team. Prime got to his feet with some difficulty and leaned against the wall, closing off his optics and bowing his head as he did so. As the outside world faded away one image burst in his mind:

Elita.

He could still visualize every detail of her delicate body, of her beautiful face. He could still imagine the soft velvet of her voice when she whispered to him in the dark. Still felt the warm caress of her small hands upon his face. He remembered the taste of her lips.

His optics came online. He lifted his head and stared hard at each member of his team in turn; not one allowed his or her optics to sway from his when he locked them in his gaze. With a curt nod he pushed off of the wall, his determination renewed, passion burning in his spark.

"Ratchet, stay here with Prowl. Jetfire, standby and protect them. Contact us if you need backup, we'll be here in a second. The rest of you, with me."

"Boss," Ultra Magnus said tentatively, "where are we going? We don't know where Elita is…"

"…I do."

_**Megatron's Quarters**_

Consciousness came slowly. It faded in, it faded out, faded in…and when it tried to escape once more, she reached out, grabbed it, sat on it. It wasn't getting away. Elita felt something in her spark—something was going to happen, and she couldn't be unconscious when it occurred.

"Awake, are you?" a cold voice demanded quietly, and she jolted on the recharge bunk. Megatron's icy optics gazed at her, oddly bright in the gathering darkness. She sat up fast, her spark pulsing uncomfortably. As discreetly as she could, she ran a fast systems check; her interface systems were uncontaminated. He hadn't touched her, at least not in that sense.

"What am I doing here?" she asked loudly, suddenly feeling completely disoriented. With a sigh he got to his feet and approached her, lowering himself onto the end of the recharge berth. She scooted away, farther up against the wall.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he snorted, seemingly amused at her discomfort. "What are you doing here? Well, you'd be living it up with Primus if you weren't so stubborn."

"I didn't ask where I could be. I want to know why I'm here right now."

"Because I'm actually quite the gentlemen," he replied, and she snorted. "That wasn't a joke."

"I couldn't tell."

He scowled darkly and continued, "You're beautiful, Elita. I'm sure someone's told you that once or twice" –_Optimus_, she thought—"and you were attracting a lot of attention just lying in Starscream's lab. I'm sure if I had left you, your interface systems would have been thoroughly soiled by the time I went to check on you. So I brought you here."

"How courteous," she said, though there was no conviction in her voice. "If you're so concerned about my well being, why not let me go?"

"Because you've yet to give me what I desire most," he replied flatly. "The Ellipses program is still somewhere I can't reach. That irritates me, Elita, it irritates me deeply. So I will not be releasing you until I'm satisfied again."

Elita grimaced; she didn't like the way he was looking at her. No, she didn't like that look at all. It was the same look passing recruits gave her; that same hungry, lustful look. But his expression was worse. It was almost barbaric. So different from the affectionate gaze that always accompanied her lover's sincere blue optics.

_Primus,_ she thought, shaking her head slightly. _Just listening to myself think is making me nauseous. What would Chromia call this? She'd say I had a 'Prime complex' or something…_

"Starscream can't read your hard drive," Megatron said abruptly, and her thoughts were pulled grudgingly from her mate back to his hardened brother. "However, there are more ways than one to familiarize oneself with another's systems…"

Elita blinked, not understanding. But it only took one look at his face, one look at the lustful, loathing expression for it to click. Before she could cry out, before she could even think to knee him where mechs do _not _like to be kneed, he was upon her, his weight crushing her beneath his massive chassis. She'd come to understand interface as being a primal, animalistic confrontation; and Megatron plus animalistic just didn't bode well for any femme. She turned her face away as his lips came down, as he tried to lock her in his kiss. She wanted to scream, but she knew, deep down, that such actions would be fruitless. Who would come rescue her? She was deep, _deep_ within Decepticon territory; if Megatron's cohorts knew there was femme in his quarters they'd probably be banging on his door, asking for a turn.

Primus, she felt weak. And she hated it. She hated feeling as if she were at any mech's disposal; in all honesty, the only recharge bed she wanted to be dragged onto was Optimus's. But to be treated like a _pleasure bot_ by _this_? By _Megatron_? The loathing boiled within her spark, hot and blinding—either that, or her interface systems were kicking in.

Oh, Primus, don't be the latter. Don't don't don't don't… 

Two seconds later, she realized interface wasn't his intention. His hands weren't anywhere near her interface port; instead, they were prying apart his own chest plates.

Which, in conclusion, was ten million times worse.

The armor came loose, and then it was before her. His spark. Dark, pulsing madly, rabid, mad with lust for power (and not for the femme he was nearly suffocating, she reminded herself). The problem presented her overwhelmingly; he was going to try to _bond with her._ And still, she didn't allow herself to scream. If anything, that would show him that she was afraid, and she wasn't about to give him the satisfaction. But still…she was about to lose her spark to _him_?

His hands moved to her chest plates…

And at that precise moment, Optimus Prime exploded through the door.

With an almighty wrench, Megatron was pulled off the recharge berth and thrown into the hall. As in, he was sent flying. _Flying._ Through the air. He hit the wall—hard—and slid to the floor with a grown. Optimus charged out after him, fury rolling out of his vocal processors in waves, hate surging in his spark. Megatron had just begun to climb to his feet when a hard fist connected with his abdomen, and he sank to the ground once more. Prime towered over him, glowered down at him, contemplating how best to dismember the disgusting mech _bit by bit._

In the end, Optimus threw him again.

Megatron landed halfway down the hall with an almighty crash, which brought two sentries running up the stairs. They both froze in the doorway, gaping at the Autobot commander, but he had no intention of dealing with them. He looked up, locked his optics upon theirs, and they yelped unwillingly. His expression was one of pure loathing, of incredible fury, overwhelming hate—and if they were two of three outlets for the surging emotions, so be it.

They turned and ran pretty slagging fast for such large mechs.

"You fragging little Pit-spawn," Optimus snarled, bringing his foot down upon his younger brother's chest. "You disgusting piece of slag! How _dare _you—!"

"Going to kill me, are you?" Megatron asked dryly, and winced as the pressure on his chest increased by several hundred pascals.

"Yes," Optimus growled.

He'd never hit anything so hard in his life. But never before in his life had he been so slagging _mad._ It was anger he'd never known before, it was fury, it was blind rage. Such vehemence was an unknown entity in his mind, but he felt it now. Oh, did he feel it _now. _And at the moment, his only outlet was the mech before him.

He used it.

Megatron offered no resistance. As sparklings, his older brother had always been somewhat weaker than him, somewhat more timid, and Megatron had taken full advantage of it. However, when Optimus was in a bad mood, the sparkling probably couldn't out-wrestled Ironhide. It was this knowledge that made Megatron surrender, made him back down without anything that even remotely resembled a fight. Optimus Prime in his current state was beyond reason, beyond mercy. It was barbaric, it was primitive, but the rage was there, blinding, all consuming. Weighing the odds, Megatron decided it would be more beneficial to his health if he simply went into defensive mode.

Even if his pride took the worst bashing of its existence.

"Optimus, stop."

Ratchet's tired voice made the commander halt; even if Megatron couldn't break through his frenzied state, the medic sure could. Optimus was panting, the fury still pumping through his circuits, and he was just considering (on a very subconscious level) going back to his merciless pummeling, until Ratchet stepped forward and pulled his leader back firmly by the shoulder.

"That's enough," Prowl said seriously, coming up from behind them and circling around to position himself squarely between Prime and the unconscious Megatron. "You've permanently dented his facial plates, I think that's more than good enough to atone for what he's done."

Optimus's body relaxed slightly, the anger passing. Ratchet released his shoulder cautiously, and Optimus nodded his head very slightly.

"…I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

"I lost control."

"With good reason."

"…Elita?"

"Go."

_**Autobot City**_

_**Headquarters**_

_**Commander's Quarters**_

Once again the battle for consciousness resumed. And this time, Elita won it quite easily, taking triumph in the fact as her optics came online. For a moment, she wondered if they were glitching; all was dark. But then strong arms tightened around her, and she relaxed. It was dark. Ha ha.

"It's me," Optimus murmured, holding his beloved to his chest as she stirred restlessly. "It's okay, Eita. It's me."

"…I know," she sighed, closing off her optics and nestling her head beneath his chin. "Primus, I'm such a loser. You actually had to come and rescue me."

"Everyone needs a little help sometimes. You've nothing to ashamed of."

"…I thought about you."

"Hm?"

"The whole time they had me, I was thinking about you," she whispered, stroking his chest plates, as if she were afraid raising her voice would disturb the darkness. "I bet Chromia'll tell me I've got a Prime complex."

He chuckled and propped himself on one elbow, smiling down at her. "Do you?"

"Don't get your hopes up," she replied flatly, rolling onto her back to look up at him.

"I have an Elita complex."

"Oh, I'm sure," she snorted, rolling her optics.

"It's true. Prowl and Ironhide will vouch for me."

"Uh-huh."

He smiled and leaned down to press his lips to hers. She sighed and lifted a hand, running her fingers along his strong jaw. It felt right. The pain of her wounds vanished, the trauma of the previous days' events melted away as his kiss deepened. He lifted his mouth away and pressed his forehead to hers, his optics searching her face.

"Was Megatron trying to do what I think he was trying to do?"

"He figured he'd bond with me to learn more about my hard drive," she replied, and he winced.

"I came that close to losing you."

"I wouldn't have died," she said, lifting her optic ridges. "Quite frankly, that would've been more incentive for him to keep me alive."

"I will personally disembowel any mech other than me who bonds with you," he growled, and she smiled.

"Are you implying something?"

"You decide," he replied, and rolled over and drifted into recharge.

_**Elsewhere…**_

_**Specific location unknown**_

"That was a magnificent shot, sir," Escapade said, leaning over the offlined Barricade and Frenzy.

"Yes, it rather was, wasn't it?" Alpha Trion said proudly, puffing up his chest as he drew his firearm back into subspace. "I wonder why those two were after you, Escapade, it's really bizarre."

"…I don't think it was me they were after, sir."

"Oh, you don't? Are you suggesting that the Decepticons were more interesting in an old, weathered mech like me? That's truly flattering. I had no idea Megatron was inclined _that way_."

Escapade couldn't help but laugh as he and his mentor strode away, leaving the so-called hunters far behind.

. E N D . T R A N S M I S S I O N .

**Whew! Which brings us to the conclusion of the Ellipses program arc! This makes me totally happy. Was Escapade the apprentice's name? I should go check…anyway, please enjoy, please review, in that order.**

**Oh yeah, the Monopoly story:**

**So there I am playing TF Monopoly with my homies. And I, of course, am the Optimus Prime game piece (he's still a sexy beast even when he's all of three centimeters tall, for those of you who were wondering). As fate would have it, I landed on Maccadam's Old Oil House (a bar!) and promptly tipped my game piece over.**

"…**Dude, what was that?"**

"**He's having a hangover."**

"**Uh, what?"**

"**Dude, look, this is a bar. See the picture? This guy's all unconscious, he's got his head on the table, and the dude next to him is all 'Hey, wake up, man!' So Optimus comes in and has some fun and now he has a hangover."**

"**C'mon, man, stand up the game piece."**

"**Hey, don't touch my Optimus!"**

"**You can't just tip him over like that, it's weird!"**

"**You know what, I reserve the right to get Optimus Prime drunk!"**

**As it were, Prime is still hungover.**


	12. ARC 2: Corespark

**Chapter Twelve**

_Plenoptic_

**First and foremost, like I always do, I have to thank all of you for all of the fantastic reviews you all sent in! The conclusion to the Ellipses Program Arc seemed to have been received rather well--all of you were rather panicky, and I quote (but not really) "What are you going to do to Elita?" The real question should have been "What would Prime have let me get away with besides NOTHING?" **

**So Elita is safe, and a new story arc begins…hopefully we'll have room for some more Ironhide and Chromia, because you're all begging. And back to Cybertron we go…**

**Please enjoy, please review, in that order.**

**NOTE: I use human terminology such as "minutes" and "hours," but that's only because I'm unfamiliar with the ratios of "joors" and "breems" and whatnot. If anyone would like to drop a note, how long in human time is each of them? Please include orns and vorns and whatnot. Anyway, it's only because I'm unfamiliar with the terminology, it's not that I think Optimus counts "minutes" until his shift ends. (He counts breems, right?)**

. B E G I N . T R A N S M I S S I O N .

The morning light had a way of spilling in through the window the same way as it had the morning before. Whenever she made note of this, the newly christened Elita One couldn't help but wonder if that was her obscure idea of normalcy kicking in. In all reality, the sunrise was the only stable thing in her life; no matter how much energon was spilled, the slagging sun would rise the same way every morning. Without fail, it would rise.

It was strange. When one becomes accustomed to a world in which everything could be gone in an instant, the little things in life became drastically more important, drastically more significant. Everything had a new meaning. Every little detail was symbolic of something bigger. She could see these little informalities all over base nowadays, as clearly as she had used to see the big picture, which strangely had become blurred. In her younger days she'd lived for tomorrow, always waiting for something bigger; now, she was thankful to have made it through the night. And more details arose.

_Optimus is breathing,_ she noted, turning her lustrous gaze to the dozing mech as whose side she was curled. _If he's breathing, he's alive. If he's alive, then this war is not yet lost…_

Taking a moment to plant a gentle kiss upon his lips, she slid off of his recharge berth and made her way through the abnormal clutter of his quarters to his even more abnormally cluttered desk. It was usually something she scolded him for, but today she was willing to take pity on the commander. They'd been busy. With a slightly irksome air she noticed that someone had been in overnight; there was a fresh pile of data chips upon the desk top, accompanied by notes that had been quickly punched on the keyboard for his viewing upon his awakening. Leaning forward to peer at the monitor (the dumb aft had forgotten to turn it off again, she thought irritably,) Elita made a quick note of anything important (she carefully ignored Sunstreaker's notice that he and his twin had found a new porn site they'd thought would be to Optimus's liking) (idiots) and deleted everything from the message screen. Pulling a good half the data chips into her subspace compartment, she spared her still sleeping lover a last glance before exiting his quarters somewhat reluctantly. She'd have thrown everything she owned through the nearest air lock to be able to cuddle into his warm chassis for a few more minutes, but her renewed sense of duty forced her to do otherwise.

Her mood was not improved when she walked into the command center to see Chromia falling asleep at the command module. With a sigh she approached her, and with a non-too-gentle poke forced her awake.

"Long night?" she inquired of her friend, raising an optic ridge to make exactly clear the true meaning of her seemingly innocent question.

Chromia scowled slightly, rubbing a hand over her optics. "Yes, actually, but not for the reason you're implying, Lita. Ironhide's in Demicon, just for the record."

A small smile twitched upon the femme commander's graceful lips. "What are you talking about? I wasn't implying anything of the sort."

"Uh huh…" Chromia snorted, rolling her optics. "Anyway, you're not looking too fresh yourself. I don't suppose the head honcho is gonna wake up exhausted?"

"You should have seen the stack of data chips on his desk, Chromia, it was slagging huge," Elita said in defense of her mate (also because the last thing she needed was a rumor that the reason Optimus was only partially functional this morning was because he and Elita had been having fun all night). "He was up all night trying to clear things up with some court case against--Jazz, I think? The stupid little fragger went and mowed over some femme on one of his little joy rides, she's trying to sue him for every cred he's got."

"Poor thing," Chromia said unsympathetically. "Okay, so Optimus is beat. You're beat. Ironhide's out, Jazz is facing potential poverty and will probably be in downtown Iacon playing the lottery or something. This leaves us with…?"

"Prowl," Elita replied, trying her best to smile in a reassuring way; it came out as more of a grimace that more portrayed the words "Just shoot me now."

"And Ratchet," Chromia added unhelpfully.

"No, he's busy. Bumblebee got into Jetfire's research materials. The poor thing spilled acid all over himself, Ratch has to practically re-grow his armor."

"Ouch," Chromia said, her voice honestly sympathetic this time.

Bumblebee. Most of the resident soldiers had been resistant to the idea of having a sparkling on a military base; but after the unforeseen destruction of the Youth Sector, there truly wasn't much that could be done. Most of the other young ones had been rehabilitated into stable families and other such environments, but that one yellow sparkling--now christened Bumblebee--had promptly refused to leave. _Refused_. He had hidden beneath, behind, on top of (ineffective though this was) anything in the immediate vicinity and cried very loudly (though this rather offset his latter strategies) every time Optimus tried to talk him into meeting some of the possible parents. Maybe it was the fact that Optimus and Ironhide had cooperatively saved the little one's life the day the Youth Sector was attacked, or maybe he was simply terrified of approaching anyone unfamiliar. Whatever the reason, Bumblebee was there to stay.

Not that anyone truly had a problem with it.

"Morning," Prowl greeted them with a sigh as he walked through the automated doors. "Prime's not up yet?"

"Stack of data chips, Prowl," Elita said, holding her hands out to imitate the approximate size. "This tall, I swear to Primacon."

"Oh yeah, sorry. Half of those were probably from me."

"Well, I've got half, so thanks for nothing. And just what the Pit were you doing in our room last night?"

"Uh…delivering the data chips?" he replied uncertainly, feeling that they'd just covered this ground seconds ago.

"No, I mean _without permission._ It's the commander's quarters, Prowl, you can't just walk in and out like it's no big deal."

"I always listen first."

"Huh?"

"I listen through the door," Prowl repeated patiently. "I always listen to make sure you two aren't…you know…_doing anything_ before I enter."

Elita's faceplates reddened slightly as Chromia laughed. "Hey, you. Quit your giggling, Primus only knows how many more hours you spend in Ironhide's quarters than I do in Optimus's," she said sourly, and her second in command fell silent quickly, just in case Primus was feeling talkative today.

"You know, I was just thinking," Prowl began, but was interrupted as both of the femmes gasped.

"No slagging way."

"You're kidding me."

"Gotta be record."

"Someone make note of this."

"Aw, shut up," Prowl said irritably, knowing full well that they were only joking; Optimus's loyal second in command was by far the most logical, thoughtful mech on base. But as the term "nerd" rather lost its luster, the femmes had been forced into verbal attacks based on reverse psychology. Or whatever Optimus called that slag. "I was seriously thinking. Doesn't everything feel a little…routine? Well, I mean, nothing's routine, it's Pit left and right no matter where you go, but it feels like the same Pit day after day after day…and I'm just wondering if war's supposed to make you feel that way or if I'm standing alone on this one."

"You're not alone. I was thinking the same thing when I woke up this morning," Elita said, managing an actual smile this time. "I guess we're so used to that Pit, we don't know what normal even is anymore."

"Normal is weird," Chromia agreed, and it was a mark of just how chaotic their lives had become that this contradictory comment made total and complete sense to them.

Once again the doors slid open with a faint hiss, this time heralding the entrance of Optimus Prime himself. Looking up, Chromia immediately justified Elita's earlier comments; the typically noble looking mech was quite plainly completely wiped out. His shoulders hunched forward slightly, his optics were unusually dim, and there was a small shuffle in his normally long, proud stride.

"You're a wreck," Chromia commented, and Optimus grimaced as though the mere sound grated hard on his audio receptors.

"Thank you, Chromia. I feel much better now. My self esteem has never been higher. Elita, why not come over here and pop my ego bubble before it consumes me?"

Smiling, Elita strode easily over to her mate and embraced him tightly, tilting her head to press her lips gently upon his. "No mask today," she commented softly, snuggling into his chest as his warm arms enveloped her.

"It's gone," he grunted irritably. "Probably the twins…"

"I knew I liked those two," she replied with a smile, and wiped away his responding smirk with a second kiss.

"Ironhide's not back yet?" Prime inquired, his voice somewhat more cheerful as he released his mate and took his place in the command chair.

"Not yet," Elita replied, leaning against the back and resting her head upon her balled fists. "When did he say he'd come home, Chromia?"

"He didn't say when exactly," Chromia said reluctantly. "But then, uh, we weren't exactly in a situation that called for much talking…"

Optimus smirked, and Prowl released a low appreciative whistle. Chromia's faceplates darkened, and with a muttered "Shut up" she turned back to the monitor.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Alpha Trion's arrivals were never predetermined. He never had any particular reason for showing up, nor did he have any particular reason for leaving. He had plenty of excuses for both circumstances, but he knew his creations had both grown to such levels of maturity that all such alibis were now virtually transparent. All the same, it came as a great surprise to both Optimus when his creator unexpectedly popped into his office.

"What do you want?" Prime asked tiredly, lifting weary optics from his desk to glare at the cheerful old mech before him.

"Nothing in particular," Alpha Trion replied, his grin broadening beneath his metallic beard and accompanying moustache.

"What a surprise," Optimus grumped, before placing his forehead back upon his palms to observe the data chip's contents and promptly proceeding to ignore his mentor.

"I do have something to say, actually," Trion amended politely, kneeling down in an attempt to reach his protégé's current eye level.

"Then say it."

"It's important."

"Then _say it_."

"I want Elita to be here too."

"Then go find her," Optimus snapped, lifting his head to lock the old mech in a cold, reproachful gaze. "Go slagging find her yourself, because I'm in no mood to be playing your fragging guessing games!"

He turned his gaze back to his work, and Trion blinked. "You seem to be in a bad mood."

"No slag, Quintesson," Optimus grumbled, his short burst of anger ebbing. He couldn't stay mad at Alpha Trion; when the old mech really wanted something, he took on an almost puppy like appearance. Prime couldn't help but feel that it would be much more fair if he, the creation, would be able to exercise such a skill on Trion, the creator. Sadly, the pleading look in Trion's optics made it quite clear that their positions would not be reversed.

"I would like to speak with you."

"Okay," Optimus replied wearily.

"You _and_ Elita."

"Okay."

"You will want to hear this, Optimus."

"Okay."

"This will change _everything._"

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Optimus, there is something you need to understand. Something that is imperative to the success of the Autobot cause, do you hear me? There is something you must know that will truly shape you into the leader you already think you are."

"So I take it what you are about to tell me is important," Optimus Prime replied coolly from his lax position upon the couch. The rec room was currently unoccupied save for Trion, Elita, and himself, as most troops were either on shift, recharging, or on the front getting their afts blown to tiny, some-assembly-required bits.

"Incredibly important," Alpha Trion replied, pausing in his almost frantic pacing to lock his protégé in his suddenly serious gaze. "And although this does not truly involve Elita, I do believe that it is a mission during which you will want her at your side."

The lovers glanced at each other somewhat uncertainly and with some amusement; the last time Trion had begun a speech such as this, he had truly been begging them to run a few trivial errands. It was a situation after which Trion felt that fate had cheated him sorely, for although his errands had gotten done in record time, his 'children' had somewhat missed the true intention of their assignment--all Trion had wanted was to give them a little alone time in an era where every moment lived together was precious. Ah well, the old mech amended, such was life.

And young ones _were_ a bit stupid nowadays.

This time, however, was different. There was absolute resolve in Trion's war-torn optics, as well as in his equally torn spark. He wondered in the back of his processor if his beloved young protégé was truly ready for the task he was about to be assigned; Primus alone knew how the experience would change Optimus, for better or for worse. But looking into the warm, calm blue optics, Trion felt a surge of confidence; Prime could do it.

"You have been made commander at a very unfortunate time, young one," Alpha Trion began, settling himself slowly into the seat across from his skeptical audience. "Sentinel Prime--your predecessor-- was not. His reign was one filled with peace, with quiet. And it is of no fault of yours that such catastrophic events have come to pass on our planet--even Sentinel could not have stopped it. But his problems were mainly consisting of political ones. He did not need to fight. He did not need to gather an army. He did not need to have strong, loving support at his side." Trion nodded in Elita's direction, who smiled slightly when Optimus glanced appreciatively at her, but both looked back when their old mentor continued.

"Sentinel had no need, nor desire, for power. But at that time, he had something that was powerful. Very powerful indeed. Surely you've heard of Cybertron's numerous relics?"

"A few," Optimus replied, painfully aware of his lack of historic knowledge. "The Allspark, of course…the Minicons who make up the Star Saber…and the Sky Boom Shield…the Eternity Matrix…"

"As would any typical Cybertronian citizen," Trion said, waving a hand dismissively. "However, there is one relic. One that has been kept secret from all but the respective leader of our planet and his closest comrades. In years and years past, it has been used to defend Cybertron from alien attack…I have, however, decided, with some assistance from parties that shall hitherto be unnamed, that you now have need of it to defend your people against those that once were."

"I'm not sure I follow," Optimus replied slowly, his processor whirring as he tried to comprehend the sudden outpour of information. "What was it that Sentinel had? And if he had it then, why don't I have it now?"

"Because he hid it, young one," Trion replied grimly, locking his protégé in his solemn gaze. "He believed Cybertron would be safe; he believed we could make do without it. I warned him against his plan, and that was the one time he did not listen to me. He told me that the item had been used to kill so many. He told me it did not belong in a world of renewed peace. So he disposed of it. He took it to the one place only he could reach, and cast it into the bowels of secrecy.

"It has not been retrieved. This is the mission I christen to you, Optimus Prime. Cybertron is no longer at peace. We can no longer ignore the need for power. I realize you do not want such a burden; though helpful at times, in the lasting history of things power can only corrupt. But this is why I wish to leave it in your hands, my little one. This is why I wish to trust you with it. You, like Sentinel, understand how dangerous power can be. You have seen it corrupt and overtake your brother--and do not look away! I know it hurts to speak of him, but this is why you must do as I say now! Now, if at any time at all! _Unlike_ Sentinel, _you_, Optimus, understand that power is a weapon--and war is fought with weapons, not with words, as much as we wish, with all our sparks, that it was."

"What am I supposed to do?" Optimus asked quietly. "What do you want? What am I to retrieve? From where?"

"The center of the planet," Alpha Trion answered softly, "is the spark of Primus. It is the Corespark. It is to there that you must go."

"And what am I looking for?" Prime demanded.

Alpha Trion stood and approached the couch, leaning close to his creations. "It is yours, my little one. It is yours, and you must go to the Corespark to retrieve it."

"What is in the Corespark that I have to get?" Optimus asked desperately, aching for an answer.

With a slight smile, Alpha Trion leaned forward and whispered the words meant for Optimus Prime's audio receptors alone:

"The Matrix of Leadership."

. E N D . T R A N S M I S S I O N .


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

_Plenoptic_

**This computer is seriously messed up, I swear to Primacon. It apparently has a problem with some of my documents and won't let it switch from caps lock. So there will thus far be a noticeable lack of all capital letters, just to avoid the computer getting stuck on any more documents. Oh, this chapter is pretty much edited...forget any little typos you see, okay? I'm just too lazy to edit them properly anymore. And there's a little something extra at the end of this chapter--see Chapter Two of Goodbyes for the complete story.**

**Uh, would you believe me if I said I recently saw "The Search For Alpha Trion" for the very first time ever? Yeah…I'm a little embarrassed to admit that, seeing as how Elita is the main character of this fic. After I got past the low tech animation and Optimus's crappy lines, I found the episode very enjoyable. I really grew to like Elita One's voice; it has a kind of nobility to it that even Oppy can't hope to match. However, I was laughing at the flashback, as she's running after Optimus with arms open wide screaming "I want to go with you!!!!!!!!!" It was just so un-Elita-ish that it made me laugh. Anyway, I'd like to see my Elita develop into the Elita on that episode, and I think it begins to occur this chapter in particular…anyway.**

**Please enjoy, please review, in that order.**

**NOTE: Special word this chapter is FONDLE--to stroke or touch lovingly.**

. B E G I N . T R A N S M I S S I O N .

_The Matrix of Leadership._

Optimus Prime groaned and rolled over on his recharge berth, still struggling to make sense of it all. His quarters felt achingly lonely without his mate curled against his side, allowing his troubling predicament to worm its way onto his priority list. For the hundredth time that night he pushed it away; reality was the last thing he wanted to deal with right now. So he focused on the future.

Elita. His relationship with her--though pure--felt somewhat uncertain. Though he cared for her, though she cared for him in return, there was always that nibbling, quiet concern: _What now? _How long could they continue in such a frivolous affinity? Young though he was, Optimus was a bit tired of feeling like a minibot with a crush. Was it time to make it final? Was he moving too fast? Would she turn him down? Or…

He turned his optics online. Recharge wasn't coming. He glanced at the chronometer on his desk and sighed; whether he was restless or not, it was still late. Too late. Elita would be deep in recharge by now, her processor peacefully blank…

Prime rolled off of his recharge bunk and moved to his desk, flicking through the data chips that had magically (coughprowlcough) appeared since the end of his shift. In his skittish state, however, it was almost impossible to concentrate, and of course it didn't help that thoughts of his beloved kept surfacing in his processor. A second groan swelled in his chest, and as he dropped his head to the desk top he released it as loudly as he could without waking up any of his neighbors.

His jaw tightened; Primus, he was being such an immature little…he dropped the thought and remorsefully faced reality. He had a mission. He had to complete it, or the war could be lost. The Decepticons could win. He had to retrieve the Matrix of Leadership from the Corespark.

He held his breath, almost daring to hope that he would feel a weight lifting from his shoulders--no such miracle occurred. With the apparition of groan number three he closed his optics and faced reality all the way. He opened his door and let it in.

_I love her._

And the weight lifted. Just like that, in simply gritting his teeth and admitting it, his spark eased.

Not all the way, however; for now it had a second goal.

Now that it had a valid candidate, it was craving a bonding.

And for the first time in a long time, Optimus Prime acted on impulse and impulse alone. He leapt up from his desk and hurried out of his door and down the hall, his spark pulsing madly within his chest. Her door seemed to come up and whack him in the face; with trembling fingers he punched the access code into the number pad on the wall and it slid open with a soft hiss. He hesitated before entering, his excitement already fading; but as he'd come this far…

Her quarters were silent--as was expected, as she was deep in her stasis cycle upon her recharge berth. Optimus slipped in as quietly as he could, wincing slightly as the door hissed closed behind him. He moved stealthily to her side and stood still for a heartbeat, his optics drinking in her form, the gentle curves of her body, the peace on her face… he shook his head hard and sank onto the edge of her bunk. She did not stir, and he relaxed slightly, his massive chassis curling forward a bit so as better to examine her. He reached out with tentative fingers and caressed her cheek; she mumbled something in her sleep and turned her face slightly into his palm.

"Elita…" he murmured, his spark aching--though he didn't know why.

Optimus glanced worriedly at the door, fearing interruption (Ratchet and Prowl just had this knack for barging in at the most inconvenient times), but the hall outside sounded quiet, and anyway, what would one of his officers want in Elita's room at this hour? (Jazz didn't count; he had long ago declared that he had business in _any _femme's room at _any_ hour.)

"Elita?" he asked quietly, and once again he got no reply. Swallowing once, his resolve set, he leaned forward until he could feel her warm breath on his face. The ache in his spark intensifying, he relaxed, tenderly pressing his lips to hers. He lifted away for a moment, waiting, but his interface systems remained uncharacteristically quiet. Relief sweeping through him, he bent back over and kissed her once more. Had they been bonded, he may have noticed her optics flicker online for the briefest of moments before a note of surprise trilled through her and they snapped closed once more. It was hard not to respond to the caress of his lips. It was wonderfully different from any other kiss they'd shared. It was devoid of passion, devoid of lust…

"Elita…I love you."

Her spark froze. Her processor almost offlined itself right then and there. The shock didn't fade until his lips had met hers once more, until he had released her from his touch, until he had chanced a last look at his supposedly sleeping mate and slipped out the door. The truth registered, and she sat bolt straight up, her spark twisting itself into tight knots.

"Optimus…!" she whispered urgently, but her voice found only the lonely darkness of her quarters.

_**Docking Bay**_

"It's…holy Primus, it's _beautiful._"

"Yeah, I thought so," Jetfire said proudly, grinning at his comrades' awestruck expressions. "I call her the ALIAH. Isn't she totally the most incredible thing you ever saw?"

"By far," Optimus said, reminding himself to close his mouth as his jaw had dropped in admiration. "Can we go in?"

"I'd be so insulted if we didn't," Jetfire replied, whacking the hatch access button with a flourish. With a faint hiss--softer than that even of the doors on base, which were pretty slagging quiet--the hatch lowered and clicked gently the against the floor at their feet. Jetfire practically skipped onboard, and was followed by Optimus, with Prowl, Ratchet, Elita, Chromia, Ironhide, and a very bored looking Jazz in tow.

"Okay, Elita, who's the smartest mech you know?" Jetfire asked smoothly, sidling up the beautiful commander as she carefully observed the ALIAH's impressive interior.

"Alpha Trion," she said absently, running a hand down one of the walls and looking at him. "Why?"

"That weird geezer?" he sighed, and she scowled. "I swear the old perv's got the hots for you, Elita…and what was that?" he demanded, as Ratchet released a rather revolted grunt.

"That's impossible, Jetfire," the medic scoffed irritably. "After all, Trion is Elita's--" he broke off with a weak cry of pain as Alpha Trion apparated out seemingly nowhere and kneed Ratchet where many mechs do not like to be kneed.

"Where did _you_ materialize from?" Optimus asked, slightly shocked.

Trion laughed and patted the younger mech's head fondly. "Ah, Optimus, so full of questions, so lacking in answers. Tell me, what is it like to be so narrow minded?"

"…Should I be insulted or appreciative of that comment?"

"Well, yes, it's always good to look at perspective. Isn't that right, Elita?"

"I don't really know what you're talking about, but sure," she replied brightly. "What brings you here, Alpha Trion?"

"The same as does you, Elita One. Word amongst my sources is that the Autobots have financed a new vessel--and what a fine craft it is, well done, Jetfire."

"Thank you, I did do good, didn't I?"

"Indeed. So, is this the vessel you will be using to locate the Matrix of Leadership?"

"I suppose so," Optimus sighed, folding his arms over his chest. "Jetfire, do you think this ship can sustain the temperatures we may encounter at the core of the planet?"

"Hey, she survived Trion's inspection," Jetfire replied, grinning. "I suspect she can survive anything."

"Well, it'll be interesting to find out, won't it?" Jazz said brightly. "Jetfire, old buddy, ya really outdid yourself this time."

"Aw, you're all making me blush."

Elita rolled her optics and turned back to carefully examination of the computer module, bending over and opening the control panel to familiarize herself with the circuitry. She gave up almost immediately; there were so many wires and ports in there that even Ratchet would get frustrated trying to sort it all out.

"Impressed?" Optimus asked from behind her, and she jumped very slightly.

"Huh? Oh, sure…it's…incredible," she said quickly, stumbling over the words as she tried desperately not to meet his optics, the memory of his confession still fresh in her processor. He thought she'd been asleep…he hadn't wanted her to hear…

"Elita?" he implored worriedly, bending down and placing a hand on her back. "Are you okay? You're awfully distant."

"No, no, I'm fine," she said hurriedly, standing up and smiling down at him. "I didn't get into my recharge cycle until late last night…that's all."

He stood slowly, his blue optics scrutinizing her skeptically. "You were out when I came in."

She winced, feeling exposed, but did her very best to slap on what she hoped was a surprised face. "You were in my quarters last night?" she summarized, trying to sound demanding and critical, hoping to turn the tide of guilt against him; but judging by the mild suspicion in his optics, she wasn't doing a very good job.

"I was checking on you," he said flatly, his optics narrowing slightly. "You've been stressed lately."

"What are you talking about, Optimus?" she snorted. "We're only planning a possibly fatal mission into the very core of the planet to retrieve a potentially fictional relic that is supposed to give us a marginally tiny chance in this war. What reason do I have to be stressed?"

"…Elita," he said gently, stepping forward, but she sidestepped him and backed away.

"I'm fine, I just had a long night," she said firmly. "The ship seems suitable. Get back to me on the mission details later, I've got work to do in my office…"

"Elita!" he said urgently, reaching out to her and taking her hand. "Elita, what's wrong?"

"Optimus, I have to go," she groaned desperately. "I…I just can't deal with this right now. Please. Just get back to me in a joor or so, I need to figure things out."

"Elita, if I've hurt you in any way…"

"You haven't done anything," she whispered, shaking her head slightly. "It's not you. It's not you…I just need some time…"

For a moment he didn't move; then, with a sigh, he released her hand and allowed his own to drop to his side somewhat awkwardly. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his waist, embracing him gently, but before he could return the gesture she had released him and turned away, fleeing out the hatch and away from the ship. Optimus stared after her until she vanished from view, then sighed and turned back to the center of the vessel--to find the future crew of the ALIAH watching him with amused optics.

"Ah, to be young and in love," Trion sighed theatrically. "How it so warms the spark to watch couples conflict, only to embrace passionately and come through the ordeal only that much stronger…"

"Optimus, did she just dump you?" Jazz asked seriously.

"No, Jazz…"

"Because, if she did, you know I'm still available."

"…Alright, you little Pit-slagger, get back to work."

_**Elita One's Office**_

"Chromia to Elita One. Do you copy?"

Elita lifted her head from the desk top with a groan, turning on her comm's two way link. "What?" the femme commander asked irritably.

"Can I come in?"

"Where are you?"

"Just outside the door."

"Then just come _in_, Chromia."

"Elita, the door's locked."

"So hit the keypad, you know the access code."

"Yeah, but to just barge in on my commander would be against protocol and if Prowl sees he'll eat me."

"I promise I won't let Prowl eat you, okay? If you want to come in, come in."

"…I forget the access code."

As it were, moments later Chromia was perched brightly on the chair in front of Elita's desk, and the irate commander had bent over her computer once more. Neither spoke, and as the intensity decreased Elita chanced more frequent glances upward at her comrade; Chromia was clearly waiting to listen to some serious femme angst.

"…Chromia."

"Yes, ma'am," the captain replied cheerfully, smiling. "What's up?"

"What do you suppose fear is?"

"…Uh. I don't really know, Elita. That's like asking what happiness is. There isn't really a set definition, is there? I mean, how could there be?"

"There are different kinds of happiness, Chromia. There's the kind of happiness you get blowing the slag out of Decepticons, or the kind you get when in recharge with a really good looking mech, or when you finish all your desk work. But everyone feels the same fear, just different degrees, right?"

"…Sure."

"So I've been thinking…what is fear, exactly? I came to a conclusion last night, just because I was kind of pondering this mission, and all it's particulars, and the pros and cons and the best and worst scenarios and I realized that I was scared…so…Chromia, I think fear is really just something we feel to replace the lack of knowledge. We don't know what's going to happen in the future…so we get scared. But isn't that sort of a given? Of course we can't know what's going to happen in a few breems, in a few joors, an orn from now, ten vorns from this moment…so what's the point in being afraid? Maybe it's better…to know _no_ fear."

"I'll bet everything I own that you are the only one who could pull that off," Chromia replied, shaking her head. "Lita, everyone has fear to some degree. You can't just plug it off like it's meaningless."

"Maybe not," Elita agreed, smiling slightly. "But…wouldn't life be a little easier if we could wipe it away like it was nothing more than a distraction?"

"Hey, go for it," Chromia said, shrugging. "I'm not stopping you."

"Yeah. Chromia…not even fear itself…is gonna stop me now."

_**Da Roof**_

"Amazing. There's an incredibly handsome mech up here who looks _just _like my Optimus."

Prime looked up, startled, but smiled slightly as Elita One seated herself next to him. "You seem to be feeling better."

"I wasn't feeling poorly, Optimus, just confused," she sighed, casting her bright optics in his direction before looking back out at the setting sun. "Primus, just like the good old days, huh?"

She reached over and pulled his mask away with a deft twist, causing him to jump.

"What?" he asked nervously.

"Nothing. Just wanted to see your face," she replied, snuggling against his chassis and into his warmth. After a rather surprised pause he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer and pressing his lips to her head. "Hey, Optimus," she said suddenly.

"Mn?"

"If you had anything important to say to me…you'd say it, right?"

He sighed and hooked a finger beneath her chin, tilting her head to gaze into her optics. "You heard me last night," he said softly, pressing his forehead against hers.

"…You should have just told me."

"I didn't want to tell you that way, I promise. It was impulse…no, no, wait. I'd been thinking about it for orns, but I made a decision to tell you right then and there on impulse…and you just happened to be in recharge."

"Why didn't you wake me up?"

"I haven't seen you relaxed in a long time, Lita," he said quietly, closing off his optics. "And you looked so calm, so peaceful…I couldn't bear to wake you up just to burden you with--"

His words died as her lips pressed against his, as her hand lifted to fondle his bare face, as her small, lithe body cuddled against his large chassis. She separated their lips but stayed close, content to let him touch her. She felt the words swelling in her throat as she became very aware of his hand stroking her abdomen, across her hip, down her thigh…he dipped his head and kissed her tenderly, becoming more impassioned as she allowed her tongue to wander over his lips…

And only then did it occur to them that maybe the roof wasn't the best place to be making love.

_**Commander's Quarters**_

"Optimus, I love you."

"Shh…I know, I know…I love you too."

"So Primus almighty, what are we _waiting_ for?"

Optimus once again kissed the restless femme in his arms to quiet her, and as his hands suggestively ran the length of her body she settled against him, her interface systems whirring as she enveloped his lips.

"Slaggit, stop doing that," she grumbled, turning her face away, and he neglected to bring up that she had been kissing him back. "Optimus, I'm being serious."

"So am I," he replied quietly, intertwining his fingers with hers and gazing affectionately into her optics. "Elita, I want to bond with you. I truly do. _I love you._ I've loved you for a long time. But we can't take the risk. Not with what's going on around us. If Megatron were to find out…"

"On account of the fact that you just about killed him when he tried to bond with me, I think he's got a slagging good idea already," Elita said flatly, caressing her lover's face in an attempt to lull him back into interface. The shudder that traversed his frame when she stroked his chest plates was a good indication. "Just bond with me, Optimus, please. I can't stand this anymore."

"What, this?" he asked craftily, roving a hand over her hips.

"Just listen to me for a second," she growled, though he noted that she made no attempt to pull his hand away. "I can go out and interface with any mech I want--but do you really think I could walk up to Ratchet or Prowl and say 'Hey, bond with me'?"

"I would hope not."

"I want it to be more, Optimus," she whispered, drawing his hips against hers. "I want us to have what so many could only dream of having…"

"I know, I know," he replied, sounding pained. "It's just too risky right now…it's not safe for you."

"It's cute how you think I give a slag," she grumbled, resting her cheek against his chest and running her index finger over his abdominal armor, tracing the long scar in his side. The scar he had acquired giving everything to protect her. A scar that would never fade. "Do you really think just finding the Matrix of Leadership will help at all?"

"I don't know, Elita," he murmured, wrapping his colossal arms around her and holding her close. "I just don't know anymore…"

. E N D . T R A N S M I S S I O N .

**Extra: "The Search For Alpha Trion, Part Two"**

**A PARODY!!!!!!!!!!!**

**See chapter two of Goodbyes for Part one. Sorry if it's not word for word, I've only seen the episode like once.**

**/// Censored content**

**(after Starscream and those other //// have captured Elita, because I couldn't think of anything funny for those scenes). **

**Monitor: beep beep beep.**

**(Optimus walks over and hits a conveniently placed button.) **

**Prime: Hey, babe, how ya doin?**

**Arcee: How are **_**you **_**doing, you sexy beast?**

**Monitor: beep beep beep again.**

**Prime: Hang on, love, got another call… (Presses another button) Yo, Megs! Been awhile, man, we still on for Saturday? Maccaddam's is totally calling!**

**Megatron: Hey, we're doing a scene, here, genius.**

**Prime: Oh yeah. Well, can you hurry it up, I've got Arcee on the other line.**

**Megatron: (clears throat) Okie dokie then. Optimus Prime, I believe I have something that might interest you…**

**Prime: Like, what is it?**

**(Screen changes to Elita)**

**Prime: ………………………………...**

**Megatron: Uh, dude? You have a line.**

**Prime:……Thunderblast? No, wait, Moonracer. No, Chromia! Yeah, that's it.**

**Elita:……. It's **_**Elita!**_

**Prime: Oh yeah! **_**Elita! **_**Let her go, Megatron!**

**Megatron: You want her, Prime? Come and get her!**

**Prime: Uh, dude, who are you? That's not the line!**

**Megatron: Just get your /// over here.**

**( the surviving femmes are in the destroyed base, lounging all over the place)**

**Firestar: What the ///, I can't believe the stunt crew forgot us!!!!!!!!!!**

**Moonracer: (jumps up) Hey, let's totally blast our way out!**

**Chromia: No ///, Sherlock, but how do we do it?**

**Moonracer: Let's totally use the energon cubes!**

**Chromia: Elita ate them.**

**Moonracer:……Oh. (sits back down.)**

**(Back to Optimus)**

**Prime: Teletran 1, I need you to severe the link with Arcee! Oh, and delete my address book, looks like Elita's coming back….and I guess I'll need the stupid coordinates of the space bridge, the /// producers forgot to give them to me.**

**(Goes to the space bridge location)**

**Starscream: You're going down, Prime!**

**Prime: Uh, wrong scene, man. I'm supposed to get here and be all like "Hm, there are no Decepticons protecting the bridge between Earth and Cybertron for some strange reason."**

**Starscream: Oh yeah. Byas, see ya in a bit then….**

**(leaves)**

**Prime: Okay. (clears throat) No sign of the Decepticons yet! (steps into bridge, little door slides closed behind him) (waits) OMG, who ///ed up the props again?! I'm supposed to be all like poof!**

**Hot Rod: (Backstage) Oh, sorry! (Hits button, Optimus goes poof)**

**Will Optimus rescue Elita? Stay tuned to the greatest parody ever to find out!**


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

_Plenoptic_

**And here we are at fourteen! Not much of a landmark (though fifteen will be) but I'm excited to use this chapter to really personify Elita's new found maturity, as well as begin to ease the fear she and Optimus share…though it will undoubtedly intensify after the ALIAH launches. And--just for you!--Part Three of "The Search For Alpha Trion: A PARODY" is included at the end of this chapter. Please enjoy!**

**And review.**

**In that order.**

. B E G I N . T R A N S M I S S I O N .

"That's the most serious expression I've seen on that sweet face in a long time," Prowl joked, smirking as he entered the rec room. "What's on your mind?"

Elita glanced up from her portable computer module and scowled darkly at him. "If you must know, I'm gathering data for the mission."

"You can leave that slag to me," Prowl said, taking an energon cube from the storage containers and sitting down across from her. "Such things are better suited to a tactician--such as myself--than a commander--such as you."

"…I could use some help, actually," she admitted, turning the module to face him. He leaned forward, frowning slightly. "Look. It just doesn't add up, Prowl. The temperature at the Corespark is over a billion degrees. That's hot. That's really, really hot. How could some ancient artifact survive temperatures like that? And even if it could, how could we possibly retrieve it without disintegrating on contact?"

Prowl's frown deepened as he examined the information on the module. She posed a good point. Well, no one had ever accused Elita One of not being intelligent. They all valued their interface appliances far too much.

"I don't see it happening," he said slowly, his optic ridges drawing together. "You're right, Elita. There's no way…but then again, it was Alpha Trion who assigned us this mission, was it not?" he added, looking up at the distressed commander. "Surely he knows of the extreme conditions you'll be faced with."

"I trust Trion," she sighed, cradling her chin in her palm. "But I just don't see how this is going to work. I certainly hope he's taken those statistics into account, because even our ALIAH can't possibly stand up to more than a few million degrees."

"Indeed. Do you know where he is now?"

"This is Trion we're talking about here, Prowl. He's even harder to track down than Optimus."

"Ah. Point well taken. Perhaps we'll inquire further into this matter the next time we see him…"

"Agreed."

She reversed the module and bent over it once more, her beautiful face drawn in concentration. Prowl smirked slightly and leaned back in his seat, downing the rest of his energon as he did so.

"Optimus seems…happy," he commented lightly, and she looked up slowly.

"Really."

"Yes. I'm curious as to what magic you worked over him."

"None at all," she said flatly, though a small smile played on her lips. "I agreed to bond with him."

Prowl laughed widely. "That's magic for a mech in itself, Elita. No wonder he's been so…giddy…as of late. I've never heard him laugh like he has lately. He even chuckled at Jazz's pathetic attempts at humor. You're good for him."

"So it would seem," she replied, smiling. "What about you, Prowl? I'm surprised you haven't been captured yet."

"Captured by what?"

"A mate. A partner."

"…Um. Actually…"

Her optic ridges lifted, and a smirk crossed her lips. "Who? Let me in, Prowl."

"I'm not really comfortable saying," he sighed. "You'll criticize."

"Prowl…we can't help who we fall in love with."

"Then you'll laugh."

"I swear to Primus and Primacon, I won't laugh, criticize, or any such negative actions and/ or gestures," she said solemnly. "You can trust me and you know it as slagging well as I do."

He narrowed his optics slightly, and she kept her expression carefully blank. He sighed heavily and leaned forward, taking her face in his hands and whispering into her audio receptor. After a moment's pause, her optics widened in disbelief.

"No slagging way…"

_**Docking Bay**_

"Me too?"

Optimus Prime looked down and winced, seeing the hopeful gaze emanating from the sparkling's optics. "Bumblebee…"

"Me too?" the minibot pressed, his small hands coming to rest upon Optimus's leg. "Bee too?"

With a sigh, the commander bent down and lifted the smaller bot into his arms, cradling Bumblebee against his mighty chassis. The sparkling squirmed in resistance for a moment before settling down at Optimus's gentle coos.

"Bee," Optimus said gently, leaning against the outer armor of the ALIAH's frame. "This is going to be dangerous. Where we're going isn't any place for a sparkling…"

"Bee too!" the minibot said insistently, looking up into his guardian's proud blue optics. Optimus sighed, frustrated, but with himself rather than the sparkling in his arms. He could never be impatient with Bumblebee; the tiny, fragile bot had become an increasingly important part of every mech's life. Since his adoption onto base, Bumblebee was rarely without his larger guardians: he was constantly hanging off of Optimus's arms or was insistently following Ironhide, begging to be carried.

"Bumblebee, you can't come," Optimus said quietly, and the look of shock and distress upon the sparkling's face nearly made his own spark break in two.

"Bee too!" the minibot said persistently, placing his tiny hands upon Optimus's chest plating. "Me!"

Prime lifted the sparkling to rest his forehead against Bumblebee's, searching his charge's optics carefully. "Listen to me, little one. This is not a mission for a sparkling. You could get hurt. And then how would Ironhide and I feel?"

"Bee too!" Bumblebee begged, his optics filling with cleaning fluid. Optimus swallowed hard and was forced to turn his head away, his spark clenching in pain. The sparkling released a whimper, his small hands balling into fists upon his guardian's chest plating. "Me…?"

"Optimus?"

Prime and Bee both glanced up, and the sparkling squealed in delight, immediately beginning to flail in Optimus's arms. Ironhide smiled faintly and took the minibot from his commander's arms, chuckling softly.

"Yah're excited taday, lil' one," he murmured affectionately, stroking the small bot's face plates. "What're ya up ta?"

"Bee too!" Bumblebee suggested enthusiastically, and Ironhide glanced worriedly in Optimus's direction. The Autobot leader shrugged helplessly; at this rate, they'd have to leave Bee with no warning.

"We'll see," Ironhide said gruffly, setting the minibot down but offering his hand. "Wanna take ah look insahd th' ship?"

Bumblebee's head bobbed up and down excitedly, and the weapons specialist led him through the open hatch and into the ALIAH's vast interior. The sparkling's excited squeals echoed throughout the docking bay; with a smile, Optimus pushed off of the helm and joined his smaller comrade inside the technological masterpiece.

As a general rule, sparklings and ships that cost several million creds didn't go together well, and Bumblebee's case was no exception. From the moment he entered the craft, Ironhide was instantly forced to almost walk on the sparkling's heels to keep him from wreaking havoc. A few technicians who had been working out the kinks in the programming watched apprehensively as the sparkling dragged his short-tempered guardian around the main command center, his voice transmitter releasing a stream of never ending babble. Optimus hovered near the hatch, content to watch his young charge make his rounds around the ship; his spark shied away from the idea of leaving the minibot behind. The mere thought of Bumblebee's pain filled cries as the ALIAH lifted away from base made him shudder. He couldn't do that. Not to Bumblebee.

"Something on your processor?" Elita asked softly, walking up the hatch and joining her mate.

"Bumblebee," Optimus murmured, his fingers reaching instinctively for hers. She took his hand and squeezed gently, her spark sympathetic. She, too, fretted over the day they'd be forced to leave the beloved sparkling behind.

"Elita!"

Elita stumbled, having been bombarded by a yellow mini missile. Bumblebee wrapped his arms around her lower legs, excited squeaks and chirps escaping his voice transmitter. She smiled tenderly and lifted the sparkling into her arms, holding his tiny form against her chassis.

"Hello there, little one," she said warmly, tickling the sensitive wires in his sides and causing him to collapse onto her in a fit of wild giggles. "This is your first time on such a big ship, isn't it?" He nodded enthusiastically, and she entered the interior, bouncing him in her arms as she went. "Alright, then you're getting the Elita One Grand Tour. You're the lucky first patron, Bumblebee."

"Bee's first, Bee's first!"

Optimus smiled, his optics softening as his mate carried the bubbly sparkling into the separate wings of the starship. Ironhide glanced over at his friend and grinned knowingly.

"Good with spahklings."

"Who?"

"Elita, o' course. Ah'm jus' sayin', she's good with spahklings."

Optimus's optics narrowed as he realized the meaning behind Ironhide's seemingly casual words. "Don't go there, Ironhide."

"C'mon, Optimus. Ah know ya're thinkin' abou' it."

"Whether I'm thinking about it or not, it's too dangerous right now. Elita and I are commanders, we have to stay focused on our men and on our cause. If we were to be distracted by yet another sparkling, our focus would come apart, our ability to lead would be crippled…we can't even afford to worry about each other, Ironhide."

"Ya're gonna worry abou' 'er whethah ya like it or not," Ironhide said flatly, folding his arms over his massive chest. "It's th' cost o' fallin' in love, Commandah."

"Thank you so much for your wisdom," Optimus grumbled. "No more sparkling comments, okay? You'll give her…you know…_ideas_."

"Primus forbid," Ironhide chuckled, his grin broadening.

_**Two orns later**_

_**Designated launch day**_

_**Docking bay**_

"All systems are go. Thrusters are ready for ignition, engine properly wired. Fuel gages working, fuel tanks full. The computers are online and functional, and our landing gear is checked. I think we're ready here, Boss."

"Thank you, Jetfire. Make sure appropriate crew is assembled, and meet us in the docking bay in a mega cycle or so. I'll bring all of the officers with me, just make sure the techs and whatnot are prepared for launch."

"Yes sir. Jetfire out."

Optimus sighed and switched off his comm link, turning his attention to the beautiful femme snuggled so erotically against his frame. He smirked slightly and ran a hand down the length of her back, taking satisfaction in the soft shudders that caressed her lithe body.

"Ironhide made an interesting comment an orn or two ago," he said quietly, relaxing against his recharge berth as she adjusted her position atop him.

"What's that?" she murmured, tucking her head beneath his chin and pressing her face into his warm chest plates. She could feel his armor vibrate lightly with each pulse of his titanic spark.

"About you and Bumblebee. Well, about you and sparklings in general, to be more specific."

She blinked her optics open and lifted her head to meet her lover's gaze. "Uh huh. He was implying something, wasn't he?"

"From my perspective, yes. But he made a good point, Lita. You're good with Bumblebee, he loves you."

"That doesn't mean I'd make a good…" she broke off, unable to bring herself to say it. The image was…disturbing, to say the least.

"…Mother?" Optimus prompted gently, raising his optic ridges, and she grimaced. "True, it's a hard thing to envision. But I have no doubt you'd do beautifully."

She groaned and lifted a finger to his lips, quieting him quickly. "Please. Don't. Let's talk about this after the mission, okay? Everything can wait. The mission depends on it."

He nodded slowly, his optics amused. She smirked slightly and leaned closer, pressing tender lips against his. For the last time for long sub-orns to come, he relaxed, losing himself in her kiss.

_**Docking bay**_

_**Launch**_

The engine exploded into life, showering sparks through the interior of the helm. Optimus Prime clutched nervously at the arms of his command chair as the ship roared to life, light illuminating the control modules as the room came alive with activity. Jetfire stood nearby, shouting orders over the comm links he shared with the various techs, his expression drawn and for once serious. Jazz, on the other hand, was bouncing happily in place, babbling happily to whatever distracted tech happened to be at hand. Prowl stood nearby with Elita, bent over in conversation; Optimus couldn't help but notice that their attention seemed to be fixed on Jazz. Pushing aside his own suspicion, he turned his attention to Ironhide and Ratchet, who were both working furiously at the main computer module and arguing heatedly. He winced, sincerely hoping that it wouldn't evolve into physical conflict and cause them to break something.

"Preparing for launch!" Jetfire shouted over the ship's com system. "Engines ignited! Thrusters and anti-grav boosters activating in ten, nine, eight…"

Elita took a glance across the room, and her unfocused gaze was caught by Optimus's; her lover smiled faintly, nodding very slightly in reassurance.

"Seven, six, five…holy slag, someone shut the fragging hatch!"

Prowl and Jazz jumped at Jetfire's outcry, and both rushed to the main frame, hurrying to pull the hatch against the ship's frame. With a hiss of hydraulics it lifted, and after a few labor intensive nano-klicks, there was a reassuring snap as it moved into place. With a sigh, Jetfire resumed his countdown.

"Four…"

Ironhide and Ratchet calmed their argument a bit, recognizing the need for seriousness, but both made silent vows that it would not go uncompleted.

"Three…two…thrusters, ignite! Boost the anti-grav! Take off, take off!"

The ship lurched violently as gravity grudgingly released its hold, allowing the impressive craft to lift from its hangar. Optimus winced; the noise was thunderous, an almighty wail that grated heavily upon the audio receptors. There was an incredible bang as the thrusters activated, and with a shriek the ship tore from the docking bay, exploding out of base and into the Cybertronian sky. It came to an abrupt halt as the stabilizers came to life, and every mech--and femme, in fairness to Elita and Chromia--was thrown violently on to his or her face.

"Everyone alright?" Jetfire asked groggily, getting heavily to his feet while the rest of the crew struggled to recover. Optimus climbed back into the command chair, having been thrown out and down the platform below (Elita was laughing even as she struggled to regain her footing).

"Well then," Prime sighed, leaning back in his seat with a heavy sigh. "Jetfire, are we all good?"

"The systems are all functioning," the scientist replied, having immediately absorbed himself in the status readout on the main computer module (Ironhide and Ratchet were currently trying to disentangle themselves on the floor). "Our engine's working beautifully. I think we can call this launch a success, Boss."

"Good," Optimus replied, a smile lifting his faceplates behind his mask. "Then ready the positions, and let's hurry up and get where we need to be."

_**Two sub-orns later**_

They only found out because Jazz was hungry--which, incidentally, was not an unfamiliar state for the saboteur. After much complaining and whining and tugging on Prowl, the tactician had finally snappishly told him where to drag his aft to get some food, after which the special operations officer had happily--_skipped?_--to the storage room.

Every mech (and two femmes) on board leapt a good foot into the air as a yell echoed from the general region of the storage room, and moments later Ironhide, Prowl, and Optimus had come running (Ratchet was busy hoping the saboteur had fallen out of an air lock). They found the special operations officer standing in the doorway, his optics wide and mouth hanging open, his processor unable to comprehend exactly what he was seeing. What was sitting in the middle of the storage room was _not _supposed to be there. Against its will, it had been dragged, wailing, away from the mighty ALIAH. So why…?

"Optimus?" Jazz said in a small voice, glancing over his shoulder, his expression somber. "We have a _little_ problem, Boss."

. E N D . T R A N S M I S S I O N .

**Bwa ha ha. And I shall say nothing more. **

**EXTRA: "The Search For Alpha Trion, Part Three"**

**A PARODY!**

**/// censored content**

**BEGIN FLASHBACK I KINDA FORGOT TO DO BEFORE OPTIMUS WENT TO THE SPACE BRIDGE…..(SWEATS) EH HEH.**

**(optimus is standing in front of the Ark)**

**Prime: uh, hi? Someone open the ///ing hatch!**

**Voice from across the room: optimus!!!!!!!!!!!**

**Prime///! Open the hatch, Elita's coming!**

**(Hatch opens, and he runs aboard)**

**Elita: Hold it right there///!**

**Prime:/// it!**

**Elita: I wanna come to!**

**Prime: No way, it's too dangerous! Jazz ate a whole /// load of beans, and you wouldn't believe the smell…**

**Elita: I don't care!**

**Prime: Okay, how about I promise to come back someday?**

**Elita: Define someday.**

**Prime: ….Anytime no one's trying to blow my ///ing head off?**

**Elita: Sounds good. **

**Prowl (from director's chair): Whoa, whoa, whoa! Elita! Little more emotion, there, love! You don't want him to go, do you?**

**Elita: Yeah, but do I have to do the little sobbing thing?**

**Prowl: Uh, yes!**

**Elita///. (opens arms and says in monotone) I want to go with you.**

**Prowl: (Holy ///, this girl can't act.) Little more, Lita!**

**Elita: I WANT TO GO WITH YOOOOOOOOOOU!**

**Prowl: Beautiful! Prime, now you…WTF?!**

**(Ark is flying away)**

**Prime: Ironhide! Drop the bomb, drop the bomb!**

**(Bomb drops, everyone supposedly dies)**

**Elita: That little piece of /// just tried to kill me!!!!!!!!!!**

**END FLASHBACK. SHUT UP, OKAY?**

**(Optimus is poofing, winds up in Decepticon base.) (waits)**

**Prime: Hot Rod!**

**Hot Rod: (backstage) ///! Sorry!**

**(containment cube falls on Optimus)**

**Prime: Thank you!**

**Starscream: Like, OMG! We ttly caught OP!**

**Elita: (standing with guards) ……uh, what?  
**

**Prime: What's up with your voice capacitor?**

**Starscream: Like WTF, nuthins wrong w/ it!**

**Elita: Alright, who ///ed up the script?!**

**Sideswipe: (runs)**

**Prime: Just get on with it, man.**

**Starscream: OMG, frgt my line, lets just kill him.**

**(meanwhile…)**

**Ironhide: hey, WTF? What's Prime doing on Cybertron?**

**Powerglide: He had a scene/// head.**

**Ironhide: Oh. Don't we have to do something too?  
**

**Inferno/// it, let's play Guitar Hero.**

**Other two: Yay!**

**(Back to Starscream)**

**(Optimus is hanging over pit of acid)**

**Elita: Hey, this totally means I get to live, right?**

**Starscream/// no///.**

**Elita: Aw, come on!**

**Optimus: Hey! You're supposed to offer your life for mine!**

**Elita: I didn't ask you to come and save me, you two timer.**

**Optimus/// it!**

**Starscream: OMG, lets just ttly do this thing! Dude by chain, hit it!**

**(Dude by chain cuts it, Optimus starts to fall)**

**Prime: I DON'T WANNA DIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

**Elita: Too bad///. This is what you get for leaving me behind on Cybertron!**

**Prowl: Cut! Elita, you're supposed to use your special power, remember?**

**Elita: Okay, okay, fine.**

**Prowl: Rolling.**

**(Optimus starts falling again)**

**Elita: Oh no. Whatever shall I do. Oh I know. Nooooooooooooooo. **

**Hot Rod: (smashes clock) Die, time!!!!!!**

**(Nothing happens, Optimus falls into pit of acid and dies)**

**Elita: OH ///!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

**Prowl: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

**Starscream: OMG, WTF?! We won?!?**

**(PLEASE STAND BY SIGN APPEARS ON SCREEN, ACCOMPANIED BY THE ROBOT CHICKEN THEME SONG)**

**Cluck cluck cluck cluck, cluck cluck cluck cluck, cluck cluck cluck….**


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

_Plenoptic_

**Wow, you people like to review! At fourteen chapters, this story has nearly one hundred and twenty reviews! (There's a seat of honor for whoever makes number 120, just as there was for Litahatchee at number 100). I have to confess to having bad writer's block on this chapter--the first time this entire fic. So I'm slowly struggling my way through.**

**The problem is that I already have the third and final story arc all planned out (it's going to be a short one) so I'm eager to get the heck through this whole thing and move on to the interesting stuff. Anyway, please just bear with me through this chapter. (Lots of Optimus/Elita juiciness in Arc 3.)**

**Oh yeah, something cool--my profile now contains a POLL! It's my very first one, and I'm quite proud of it, really. If you get the chance, please visit my profile and vote, as the outcome will probably determine the pairing for my next major fan fiction. As it stands, OptimusXElita have the majority, but RodimusXArcee and IronhideXChromia are close behind…and OptimusXProwl?! Not quite sure what to make of that…**

**Oh yeah, for the first time, I have a dedication to make! Magnus's someday flame in this chapter, the tech named Blazer, is dedicated to Phoenix13, who is possibly Mags's biggest fan. (And, coincidentally, is also just about my favorite author on the site… "Cheers.")**

**Anyway, please enjoy, please vote, please review, in that order. I got to have a lot of fun with Elita's character this chapter…**

**HEY, A DISCLAIMER!: I don't own Transformers. Wish I did, I'd be so rich right now, and I could really use the money. I do own Blazer, however. My character. **

. B E G I N . T R A N S M I S S I O N .

"…_Bumblebee_?!"

So for once, it was a good thing that Jazz was hungry. For, staring up at them with watery optics from the storage room floor, was the beloved sparkling they had supposedly left behind. For the longest of moments, the mechs could only stare, mouths open and optics wide. All that was managed was a low gurgle from Ironhide, before Bumblebee abruptly burst into hysteric sobs and threw himself upon his caretakers.

"Bee, Bee," Optimus moaned, lifting the sparkling into his colossal arms and rocking him gently. "What in Primus's good name are you doing here?"

"…Me…too…" the sparkling choked out, and four voices groaned in unison. The poor little bot had been _lonely._

"Oh, Primus!" Elita yelped, and they turned to see she and Chromia standing a short distance away. "Bumblebee? What's he doing here?"

"An excellent question," Optimus replied grimly, depositing the wailing sparkling into his lover's more motherly arms. "He must have snuck onboard…"

"Oh, slag," Jazz said abruptly. "Remember? We forgot to close the hatch before the countdown…"

"You little troublemaker, you," Elita purred affectionately, stroking Bee's wet faceplates. "What are we gonna do with you?"

"It's too late to turn back," Prowl sighed, rubbing his nasal ridge. "I think we may just have to take him with us…"

"Take 'im with us?" Ironhide repeated sharply. "Prahl, tha's insane…we're talkin' ah life threatenin' mission here…"

"Ironhide, think about it," Chromia said gently. "With Optimus gone, the Decepticons are bound to try something back on base…do you really think he's safer in a war zone or on a high-tech exploration vessel with the Autobot Commander and associates?"

"Ah think he'd be bettah off in First Division Ahcon in some femme's ahms," Ironhide replied flatly. "Ah think we shoulda tried hahdah ta find 'im ah home…"

"I'm home," Bumblebee squeaked, and all optics turned to him immediately. "I'm home," he repeated, snuggling deeper into Elita's arms and smiling adorably up at them. "Bee's home."

There was a long silence, after which both Elita and Chromia squealed in an uncharacteristically girly way and glomped Bumblebee at once. The sparkling at first seemed to enjoy the attention, but moments later was attempting to squirm from their embrace and into the larger, more comfortable arms of his male guardians. Ironhide moved forward to rescue him, rolling his optics as he had to practically wrestle him away from the cooing femmes.

"Looks like 'e's stayin'," the weapons specialist muttered, carrying his young charge back out to the control room.

_**Two sub-orns later…**_

"It's a chasm, I believe. It's just this slaggin' huge gaping wound in the side of the planet. Apparently it was undergoing transformation when some space frag struck it, splitting it down to this Corespark thing."

"And where is this Pit-hole located?" Jazz inquired, frowning slightly.

Prowl sighed and straightened, as he had been bending over the computer module, and he distinctly heard a joint in his back crack loudly. "We don't know the exact coordinates. Alpha Trion's hiding in the command quarters, and he's the only one who knows precisely where to find this monstrosity."

"And, thus far, we've had no luck dislodging him," Optimus added, looking discouraged. "He's refused to reveal anything to anyone."

"So we're basically floating around above Cybertron, waiting for this old geezer to give us a heading?" Jazz summarized, and though the insult upon their mentor did not go without a fierce glare, both Optimus and Elita nodded sullenly.

"Maybe one of you should talk to him," Prowl suggested, looking at his commanders. "We can't just mill around forever, we're fighting a war here. Time is of the essence."

"I sure as Pit am not brave enough to barge in on Alpha Trion while he's hiding," Elita replied, shaking her head hard. "That's the suicide mission to top them all."

"I agree one hundred percent," Optimus added. "I think we need to let Trion come to us of his own accord…"

"But only Primus knows how long he'll be cooped up in there! Optimus, we need progress, not patience, and waiting on him isn't doing us a slag's worth of good!" Jazz snapped, a little more fiercely than he completely meant to. "I say we boot up the main module and start looking for some giveaway of a huge crevice in the planet's surface. I mean, how hard could _that_ be?"

"And what do you suggest we do once we get there?" Elita snapped. "Plunge right in? Jazz, have you forgotten how hot it is in the slagging center of the planet? This is Primus's spark we're talking about, not just a huge hole. We need Trion, we need him to tell us how to get down there without burning our afts off!"

"Forget burning, we'll be incinerated," Prowl added, frowning. "Optimus?"

The commander sighed heavily and rested his forehead upon the heels of his palms, shutting down his optics and audio receptors, though his crew had fallen silent anyway. "We just need to get there," he mumbled, talking more to himself than to the room's other occupants. "We get there, we can take it one step at a time…" He lifted his head, rebooting his sensor relays and bringing both optics and audio receptors back online. "Jazz, start searching the planet's heat signatures over all the area we pass over. You see anything off the charts, you alert us, and we check it out. If we can just identify where this chasm is, we can pound Trion for information later. I'd like to wait for his advice, but seeing as we're running out of time, I don't think we can wait around. We're taking this into our own hands."

Elita looked at him, her optics wary. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"No," he replied wearily. "But for the time being, it's all we've got."

_**Recreational Wings**_

"It's been a whole orn, and still nothing," Jazz sighed, removing an energon cube from the storage unit and joining his comrades on the couches. There had been a lot of activity in the rec wings lately; the memory padding on the couches had actually been used so often there were near permanent imprints of various mechs' butts across its length, and Jazz was no exception. As the worn pad indicated, the left side of the first couch was officially _Jazz's spot._

"Optimus tried to talk to Trion today, but he just about got blown to bits," Prowl replied grimly, sinking down beside the saboteur (which christened a raised optic ridge from Elita). "Apparently the old mech actually pulled a gun on him."

"Not surprising," the femme commander replied darkly. "Well, don't say I didn't warn him. We need Trion to get us through this, but the old mech's touchy. We have to be careful how we handle him…"

"You know, it's kind of disturbing how you know so much about a mech who's, like, a hundred times your own age," Jazz said flatly, raising an optic ridge, and she scowled at him.

"You had better not be implying anything."

"I'm not."

"…You little pervert."

"What?"

"You _are_ implying something!"

"I didn't say nothin'!"

"But you were definitely _thinking _something!"

"Was not!"

"You guys," Prowl said tiredly, but they paid him no heed.

"Anyone seen Chromia lately?" Elita asked nearly a breem later, watching with amusement as Jazz panted upon the couch, his voice receptors completely worn out.

"Anyone seen Ironhide lately?" Prowl replied with a snort, and she rolled her optics.

"Gotcha."

Optimus couldn't help smiling slightly from his position in the back of the room, eavesdropping upon his comrades. If both Ironhide and Chromia were missing, it could only mean one thing, he mused, smirking as he sipped his energon. His ponderings were interrupted by a loud thud as Ultra Magnus sank into the chair in front of him.

"…Magnus?" Optimus asked worriedly, as the city commander promptly let his head drop to the table. "Are you alright?"

"…No."

"What's wrong?"

"…Met a femme," Magnus grunted, lifting his head to bang it once more upon the table's steel surface. "Pass me over a cube of high grade, will ya?"

Prime dutifully passed the object in question, and within a nanite the exhausted soldier had completely devoured it. The commander watched patiently, his processor whirring with curiosity. It wasn't like Magnus to drink…

"Met a femme," Ultra Magnus repeated quietly, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. "You should've seen her, Prime. She was beautiful. Could've given Elita run for her money."

"I doubt that," Optimus snorted, smiling very slightly. "But I don't see why this is plunging you into this deep depression, Mags. You met her here on the ALIAH?"

"Yeah. She's a tech. Real smart one, too. And her laugh…Optimus, I couldn't even breathe. Just…the way she moves…it's…"

"…You've really got it bad, Magnus. Did you get said femme's name?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I heard one of her friends call to her. Blazer. Primus, what a name. I know how she got it, too…blazed her image straight through my processor, she did. I can't stop thinking about her, Opt. I don't know what to do…"

"Talk to her," Elita suggested, and both mechs jumped, not having heard her approach. "Magnus, you'll never get anywhere if you hide in the shadows and admire her from afar," the femme continued, seating herself next to her mate. "And if you _don't_ admire her from the shadows, she'll think you're stalking her, so don't do that either. Just go up and introduce yourself. Show some interest in her. Talk about her work. Ask her out. As long as you don't act like a self-obsessed aft, she'll be all over a good-lookin' mech like you."

"…You think so?" Magnus asked, his tone slightly more hopeful.

"Sure I do," Elita replied, grinning. "Why, if Optimus weren't in the way, I think I'd go after you myself. But not really," she added, patting Prime's cheek affectionately as a scowl crossed his faceplates. "Take a risk, Mags. When you look back on your life a hundred vorns from now, do you want to say you let her walk away?"

Ultra Magnus shook his head slowly. "No…"

"Do you want to say you let love slip through your fingers?"

He shook his head harder, his expression becoming more determined. "No."

"Do you want to say you lost her to some other mech?"

"No!" he said fiercely, jumping to his feet. "No way! I--" He broke off, and a smile stretched his faceplates. "Wow. Nice pep talk, Elita."

"Learned from the best," she replied, winking at him. "Go get her, big guy."

The city commander saluted briefly before hurrying out, bursting with newfound energy and charisma. Optimus turned to stare at his mate, shaking his head in disbelief.

"How did you do that?" he wondered aloud as she rose from her seat.

She smiled impishly and leant down, hooking a finger under his chin and drawing his face close to hers. "I'm Elita One, darling," she cooed softly. "By now, you should know not to expect anything less."

. E N D . T R A N S M I S S I O N .

**Okay, this chapter is crap. Sorry, but I was so blocked I could barely get out each word, let alone extend the chapter to its usual length. So I'll try to get this show on the road and update soon…please just bear with me. Consider this chapter as a little bit of background as to what's going down on the ALIAH.**


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

_Plenoptic_

**Another maelstrom of reviews has greeted me! Thanks to all of you who dropped a line, it was truly appreciated. It keeps me going.**

**I had a note of concern about the condition of The Ties That Bind Us. For all of its readers, the story has not been abandoned, but is merely on hiatus until I can reach a moment of peace in this fic. So much to write, so little time…on top of that time, I'm trying to finish two other short stories (around three chapters each) and those documents are building up fast on my manager. From this author, there will never be a lack of material….(cries)**

**Anyway, last chapter was a stand still, but this chapter should begin to pick up.**

**One of you mentioned that they are basically looking for Primus's "crack." That made me laugh so HARD. They are looking for the aft crack of Primus…**

**(Starts laughing and has to go away to a quiet room to calm down)**

**Oh yeah, sorry about the lack of parody at the end of last chapter, I simply forgot to do it. However, I'll do one this chapter.**

**Okay, let's roll out, shall we? Please enjoy, please review, in that order.**

**NOTE: It was hard to write this chapter without changing the rating. You'll find out what I mean later on….(read on if you dare. Mwa ha ha ha hah…) (What's the Cybertronian word for tongue? I know there is one….right?) IronhideXChromia is easier to write than I thought it would be…go figure.**

. B E G I N . T R A N S M I S S I O N .

I AM GETTING REALLY GOOD AT TYPING THAT

"Hey, look. A giant gap in the middle of the planet. Which has heat sigs nearly off the scale. Go figure."

Jazz and Bluestreak exchanged slow glances; then, a grin splitting his faceplates, Jazz shouted "CRACK IN SIGHT!!!!"

* * *

"…We made it." 

"Indeed we did," Optimus murmured, stepping away from the giant wound in the planet's surface. He could almost feel his armor melting away; the heat rising from the chasm was unbelievable. It was suffocating--his vents were screaming for circulation. Elita looked uncomfortable as well, and Prowl was gritting his teeth.

"Move away, all of you," Ratchet growled, taking Elita's shoulder and guiding the femme closer to the ship. "If the heat gets to your processors and you faint, what do you suppose would happen if you fell forward into the chasm? You'd fall a couple miles until you hit the core of the planet and were incinerated. All because you didn't listen to old Ratchet."

"Alright, alright," Optimus replied irritably, and both he and Prowl took a few large steps backwards. Even a few yards away, the heat was uncomfortable, and they backed up further to lean upon the side of the landed craft.

"We need to get Trion," Elita said heavily. "We just can't survive that heat."

"Yeah…but who wants to brave his room?" Optimus groaned, tipping his head back to stare up at the system's sun.

"No need," a voice grunted from the open hatch, and they turned to see a very grumpy-looking Alpha Trion standing in the entrance, yawning loudly. "Glad to see you all made it here, at least," he said drowsily, stretching so widely that his joints began to creak. "Oh, getting old…anyway, you all have to wait until night to go down."

"Why night?" Elita questioned, cocking her head.

"The moons of Cybertron are components of Primus **(see Transformers: Cybertron for further details)**," the old mech said wearily, tromping down the open hatch to join them. "When moonlight falls upon this crevice, his spark reacts with it and the temperatures drop severely. Didn't you always wonder why it was so bitterly cold at night, even though another system's sun was so close when Cybertron is turned from our own? When night comes, the moonlight will flood the chasm, and still the spark. At that time, we will begin our descent."

A long silence followed his brief speech, during which the audience exchanged nervous glances.

"We've only got until the sun comes up," Optimus summarized, glancing uneasily at his mentor. "That's not much time, Trion."

"It'll have to do," the old mech replied, yawning widely. "You must believe, young one. Didn't I tell you? Project PAX was built to house the Matrix of Leadership. This is something you must do."

Prime nodded slowly, turning his gaze back to the chasm. Elita motioned for the others to board the ship once more, and they obliged, recognizing the need for the couple to be alone. The femme turned to look at her mate, opened her mouth, but then closed it once more. There was nothing to be said. Within a few joors they would be descending into Pit itself--and there was no guarantee either of them would be coming back alive.

"Bond with me."

She blinked, stunned. "Um…pardon?"

"Bond with me," Optimus repeated, looking up at her. His expression was dead serious. "We might not come out of this. We could _die_, Elita. And if we do, I don't want us to be unsure. We've been through this. If this is the end, I want you to be with me when we go down."

"Optimus," she groaned, walking over to stand before him. She took one of his large hands in both of hers, gazing pleadingly up at his optics. "There's no time for this. We've a better chance of survival if we take this time to prepare for the mission. Besides, bonding requires time. It's supposed to be held in secret, supposed to be private…not aboard a battleship where anyone could barge in at any time. When I bond with you, I don't want to be rushed. I don't want to be thinking of the mission we've got to tackle in a matter of joors."

"I can't do this, Elita," he said quietly, squeezing her hands. "I can't do this without you."

"You won't have to," she soothed, lifting a hand to caress his face. "And we're not going to go down on this mission. We'll retrieve the Matrix. We'll come back out, we'll go back to base, and then I'm all yours. Just be patient, love."

"…I'm not a patient mech."

"Well, too bad," she chided affectionately.

He scowled beneath his mask, scrutinizing her beautiful face carefully. So he couldn't bond with her just yet. But there was no reason he couldn't still enjoy her. He lifted one hand to remove his mask, and moments later had trapped her in a passionate kiss. No sooner had his interface systems activated than she had pulled away, frowning.

"Optimus. This is _slightly _public, don't you think? You know as slagging well as I do that Jazz is probably leaning out a window watching us. Besides, we should be preparing for the _mission_, remember?"

"Slag the mission," he mumbled, drawing her hips against his and brushing his lips against her cheek. "I'd give up the whole thing if I could have you right now."

She sighed and smiled very slightly. "I've got a better idea. How about you can have me and we focus on the mission later?"

"Deal," he purred, gesturing towards the hatch--and, presumably, his quarters.

_**Ironhide's Quarters**_

_**(Read on at your own risk)**_

As it were, the equally trigger-happy bots had not left his quarters since nearly the beginning of the voyage. Like Optimus and Elita, they'd quickly realized just how limited their time was. Within a joor they could be dead, ready to be incinerated in the center of the planet. And, like Optimus, Ironhide had realized he wasn't going down with a lonely spark.

Unbeknownst to the rest of the ALIAH's crew, they were bonding.

Most of the mechs on base had been too intrigued by the abrupt relationship of Optimus and Elita to take much notice of the budding romance between Ironhide and Chromia. Some sensitive ones--namely Kup and Prowl--had made note, however, of the subtle touches, whispers, the tender kisses the two occasionally shared. It was not the same relationship as was shared by Optimus and Elita; Ironhide and Chromia definitely argued more. Which was quite the feat, as the two commanders were almost constantly at each other's throats. It seemed that whatever they'd been doing in Optimus's quarters the previous night had little relevance when there was a point to be made and a verbal battle to be won.

Ironhide and Chromia were definitely different. Ironhide took delight in teasing his beloved femme: he touched her waist, grabbed her aft, kissed her at random times, _accidentally_ brushed his hip against hers when he passed her on shift. And although she couldn't say she didn't like it, it was almost too tempting--it had become a chore, avoiding him had. She could _not _make out with him on shift, nor could she curl up in his lap, nor could she massage his shoulder plates, nor could she run her fingers over his chest, nor could she…no, the list went on and on.

In his quarters was a different story. A different story altogether. In his quarters, she could enjoy every inch of her mate, as he could her. They said only what absolutely needed to be said, and touched probably a lot more than was necessary; but then, it was _Ironhide_, for Pit's sake. Not much of a talker, this one, she mused on the evening in question.

But what Ironhide had in mind didn't particularly require words.

The trigger-happy mech purred lecherously as the beautiful femme beneath him shifted with a soft moan. His recharge berth was undoubtedly warmer with her curvaceous body spread upon it. He bent low to trap her lips, and her tongue instantly stole into his mouth. He didn't mind--as far as he was concerned, that was exactly where her tongue belonged.

At present, their chest armor was closed, but frequently over the past orn it had been wide open, and their sparks had been clashing mightily between them. It took very little thought for Ironhide to decide he liked spark-bonding much more than interface. Much more fun.

_Much_ more fun.

"You old perv," Chromia mumbled as his hands once again roved over her abdomen, proceeding right to her hips and thighs. "The way you act, it's like you're already hoping for a sparkling…"

"Tha' wouldn' be so bad," he admitted, lifting his hands so he could place his elbows on either side of her head and prop his chin in his palms. He blinked down at her, his dark optics thoughtful. "Aftah Bee, Ah wouldn' mind anothah lil' one."

"After Bee, I thought you'd run screaming at the mere mention of sparklings," Chromia snorted, her supple lips pulling back into a smirk. She shuddered slightly as his spark pulsed. "How close are we?"

"Almost," he replied softly, kissing her helm lightly. "Lil' more ta go. If we're gonna do it, we migh' as well do it now, love. Th' mission's gonna staht soon, from th' sound o' it ou' there."

She sighed and lifted her hands; he shivered as her delicate fingers once again lifted his chest plates open. He mimicked her, and as he leant down to rest his body upon hers, their sparks collided once more, releasing a beautiful array of blue tendrils in their wake. The light illuminated her face, capturing its beauty in brief flashes, coming faster and faster as their sparks pushed against each other, straining against each other, testing the waters--

The feeling that passed through them as their sparks finally melded into one was…indescribable. Both were vaguely aware of their processors going offline, but processors had value only in the world of interface--and this sure as Pit was _not_ as simple as that. Reduced to a state of existence that was either incredibly advanced or incredibly primitive, the two bots in question could feel only the presence of the other, only the sensation of not being alone anymore, only the sensation of _wholeness_…

Where two sparks once stood, one now pulsed more mightily than ever before.

. E N D . T R A N S M I S S I O N .

**Sorry about the shortness of this chapter, I'm trying to lengthen this story arc into more than, like, three parts…anyway, please enjoy, please review, in that order.**


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

_Plenoptic_

**Uh…so….yeah. Uh…last chapter I forgot to do the parody again, okay? So as an added bonus, here is part four. Right off the bat. Just so I don't forget again.**

**Oh yeah; I recently bought a TRANSFORMERS comic. It was really fun; a lot of Hot Rod, a lot of Wheeljack, and **_**lots**_** of Sunstreaker! Five Sunstreakers, to be exact. Read DEVASTATOR Phase Two for complete details. And what's this….? **_**Headmasters?!**_** And what's happened to the real Sunstreaker?!**

**Man, Dreamwave should love me. Look at all the advertising I do for them! (And guess what?! A tongue is called a glossa!) (Thanks to the person who pointed that out) (I think I'll stick with tongue) (Sounds better in scenes) (Parentheses are fun)**

**The Search For Alpha Trion: A PARODY! Part Four**

**/// Censored Content**

**(Robot Chicken music ends, and scene is set up once more. Optimus is once again dangling above a pit of acid, having been restored by the technical crew.)**

**Ratchet: Could you at least give me some more credit than that?!**

**(Sorry, Ratch. Anyway…)**

**Prowl: (migraine) okay, people, let's get it right this time…WHERE'S ELITA?!**

**Starscream: idk.**

**Optimus: (raises hands in questioning gesture, taking his hands off the bar in the process, and falls into pit again)**

**(Ratchet rushes to revive Optimus again, and Starscream begins texting on his phone.)**

**Prowl: What the /// are you doing?**

**Starscream: WTF, im just txting.**

**Prowl: Who?!**

**Starscream: idk, my BFF Jet?**

**Prowl: Well get off the /// phone!**

**Starscream: TISNF!**

**Prowl:….**_**What?**_** Just put the ///ing phone away!**

**Starscream: (grumbling, puts phone away)**

**Prowl: Okay, one more time…**

**(Stage is reset. Optimus is looking a little scared and pondering whether or not he just slag it all to Pit and get another job. Elita has returned. So has Megatron to his dressing room, incidentally…but we won't get further into detail than that.)**

**Starscream: Ok, dude by da chain! Cut it!**

**(Dude by the chain cuts it)**

**Elita:………………..oh, yeah! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

**(Sunstreaker and Sideswipe flicker lights on and off)**

**Prowl: Cut! What kind of special effects are those?!**

**Twins: sorry!**

**(Scene rolls again)**

**Elita: Repeat, NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

**(Twins turn on strobe lights)**

**Prowl: CUT!**

**Elita: Holy ///!**

**Starscream: OMG, WTF?!**

**Prowl: Sunstreaker, Sideswipe! What happened to all the bright, weird colors? We have a  
"special power" activating here!**

**Sunstreaker///it, ask Hot Rod!**

**Prime: Holy ///, did that little /// up the props AGAIN?!**

**Elita: He's not a little ///! I made out with him yesterday!**

**Starscream: ……………….OMG, TMI.**

**Prowl: Okay, okay, forget it! All of you Decepticons--freeze! Optimus, you freeze too!**

**Optimus: Uh huh. Because there's definitely a lot I could do besides hang here.**

**Prowl: Shut up! I see that mouth plate moving! Okay, roll!**

**(long pause)**

**Prowl:……….Um, **_**Elita?**_

**Elita: I thought time was stopped.**

**Prowl: THAT DOESN'T INCLUDE YOU!**

**Elita: Ohhhhhhh. (runs and grabs Optimus's feet) Holy ///, he's so fat!**

**Optimus: Hey!**

**Prowl: Shut up, Prime! Just jump down, okay?!**

**(Optimus tries to jump down and lands in acid again)**

**Prowl: (groan)**

_**Meanwhile, back at base…**_

**Ironhide: I'm sure there's something we had to be doing.**

**Inferno: Yeah, like…I just know it.**

**Powerglider: (still playing Guitar Hero) I dunno, why don't we go kill some 'Cons?**

**Other two: Yeah!**

_**Back to the Decepticon base…**_

**(They finally got Optimus down, and once he is on the floor Elita starts giving him CPR)**

**Prowl: What the /// are you doing?!**

**Elita: The time thingy's still on him!**

**Prowl: Just touch him, moron!**

**Elita: (slaps him) Yo, Prime! Wake up!**

**Prime: Ow! You ///!**

**Elita: What'd you just call me?!**

**Prowl: I give up. Jazz, you take over.**

**Jazz: Sweet!**

**Elita: (lays down and props her feet up) okay, Prime, listen up. There's this old geezer named Alpha Trion. **

**Prime: …….Aaaaaaaand?**

**Elita:……………Line?**

**Jazz: "Only he can save my life!" Or some /// like that….**

**Elita: Whatever, just get me the /// out of here. These guys smell so ///ing bad!**

**(Prime picks up Elita's heels and begins dragging her across the floor in the door's general direction)**

**Elita: YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO CARRY ME, IDIOT!!!!!!!!!!**

**Prime/// no, fattie!**

**Elita: Why you little piece of ///!**

_**At the place where the battle is supposed to occur…**_

**(long pause)**

**Powerglide: ……..Echo!**

_**Echo, echo, echo….)**_

**Ironhide: Okay, I'm **_**sure**_** we were supposed to be doing something.**

**Inferno: Hey, look! I see Firestar! ……I mean, uh, oh my gosh! It's Firestar! It's been so long! I mean, I totally didn't just see you when we went on our donut break!**

**(Moonracer is shooting wildly)**

**Jazz: Uh, I thought she was supposed to be, like, a good shooter?**

**Powerglide: Nah, that's all in the script.**

**(Moonracer accidentally shoots him. Powerglide dies)**

**Moonracer: Uh, oops.**

**Jazz: Just keep going…**

**Moonracer: Riiiiiight. (Continues shooting)**

**(Moments later, Inferno dies)**

**Moonracer:…..Eh heh heh.**

_**Some desolate place in the middle of nowhere…..**_

**Optimus: TRION! HERE BOY! COME GET THE PRETTY FEMME!**

**Trion: Holy ///, what do you want?!**

**Optimus: I'm pretty sure Elita's gonna die.**

**Trion: And?**

**Optimus:…….**_**And,**_** I was hoping you could save her.**

**Trion: Why would I do that? **

**Optimus: You can have my donuts at the break.**

**Trion: Deal. Follow me.**

**(They go to his lab)**

**(Optimus tries to set her on the table, but misses and drops her on the floor)**

**Elita: OW///!**

**Optimus: Oops. Sorry, my bad.**

**Trion: See? She looks fine to me.**

**Elita: No I'm not! Just stick to the script!**

**Optimus: Fine. (clears throat) Is there anything you can do?**

**Trion: When do I get the donuts?**

**Optimus: Just fix the ///ing femme.**

**More later, I'm all out of ideas. On to the chapter!**

**NOTE: IMPORTANT POLL UPDATE AT END OF CHAPTER, PLEASE READ.**

. B E G I N . T R A N S M I S S I O N .

The night air was cold.

There were probably more vivid details involved on that particular night, but looking back on it, Optimus Prime could remember little more than the cold of the air in comparison to the femme in his arms. Debris struck their armor, lifted by the wind, and she pressed closer against him, her optics gazing apprehensively at the gaping chasm before them. In the darkness, its light was visible; bright streaks of gold erupted from the wound in the planet's surface to sear through the starry sky above, illuminating their faces in white light.

"Wow," Chromia breathed, stepping closer, her fingers clutching at Ironhide's. "This is amazing."

"I could write some slaggin' awesome songs about this," Jazz mumbled, his optics wide as they gazed upon the miracle at their feet. "Primus…"

"Time is of the essence, by the way," Alpha Trion said testily, kneeling at the side of the chasm and peering down into its depth. "It is approximately wide enough for the ALIAH to descend. We must move immediately. The night wanes…"

Optimus released Elita from his grip and made for the ship; in all tenderness she hurried to his side and took his hand in hers. He glanced down at her, and a small smile played across his lips, lighting up his optics.

"We will survive," he assured her softly. "I promise. We will survive…and I will bond with you."

"Optimus, I'm sorry," she began desperately, halting, but he shook his head and pulled her forward.

"There's nothing for you to apologize for. My timing was bad. Besides, perhaps it's for the better…I have further motivation to come out of this mission unscathed."

"…Optimus?"

"Yes?" he responded gently, pausing and turning to face her. She seemed nervous, biting her lip, and was apparently unable to meet his optics.

"That day…the day Megatron attacked the command center. You said…you said you didn't have any more reason to live. I just…I want to know if you've…changed your mind." Her voice strengthened, and she brought her optics up to meet his surprised gaze. "Have _I_ done anything to make you think differently?"

He stepped closer and lifted a hand to rest it upon her cheek. With a soft sigh, he pulled her close and rested his forehead against hers, bringing his other hand down to grip her smaller fingers. "Absolutely," he replied quietly, his optics bright in the darkening atmosphere. She felt her spark pulse harder, and she was forced to turn her gaze away.

"Come on," she mumbled, drawing away from him and indicating towards the ship. "Let's do this."

* * *

"Stabilize thrusters! Wheeljack, turn off the frontal most engines! Jetfire, get our nose pointed down, ease us down into the chasm! The second we're completely down inside, pull the helm back up and get us straightened out! 

The orders were followed within half a nanite, Wheeljack and Jetfire pummeling the controls as if they were the game chips they frequently played with Bumblebee. Speaking of whom. The little sparkling was currently being clutched by Bluestreak and Jazz, probably as much a security blanket to them as they were to him. The three had never been pressed closer, and Elita noticed with a hint of amusement that Prowl was watching Bluestreak press closer to Jazz with a definite glare of envy. Optimus couldn't help but notice the subtle gesture as well, but fortunately couldn't piece together why Prowl would want to be snuggled against Jazz's chassis.

Well, no one ever accused him of being the most insightful commander.

"Okay--okay, Jetfire! Nose down, nose down! Front thrusters on! ON! Keep the artificial gravity on, turn it on! Ratchet! Thank you!"

Every bot on board simultaneously grabbed someone else as the mighty ship abruptly began a steep descent downwards, plummeting almost uncontrollably into the chasm before them. Jetfire leaned over the command console, muttering under his breath in his enhanced state of concentration. Wheeljack glanced nervously at his companion before Optimus's snappy order forced him to redirect his optics.

All vents abruptly closed, all fuel pumps abruptly stopped in anticipation as a dull scraping sound came from the hull, and then the ship was enveloped in the blissful light from the chasm. Jetfire released the trapped air in his vents with a loud wheeze, leaning back in his command seat with a whispered "We're in."

The anticipation, the fear, evaporated instantly, and Elita, Chromia, Inferno, Hound, and Powerglide all quickly released their vice grips on Optimus's chassis. Bluestreak and Jazz sighed loudly and set Bumblebee back on the floor, and the terrified sparkling leapt immediately into Ironhide's waiting arms--as did Chromia, incidentally. Grunting under the latter's unexpected weight, Ironhide fell backwards and landed heavily on his aft, his two favorite bots in the universe alternately wailing in his arms.

"Don't relax just yet," Wheeljack muttered, now gripping the controls. "Everyone hold on to something."

The chorus of "huh?"s was immediately followed by a rough jerk as the ship's nose was pulled back up, and the thrusters reengaged; anyone who had been standing was immediately thrown violently onto their afts (after which Ironhide was glad he was already sitting). Bumblebee laughed loudly as Optimus and Inferno tripped and fell over one another, and two loud thuds resulted as the large mechs crashed to the floor. Elita released an agitated grunt as she was abruptly squashed under her mate's weight, and with a startled cry he rolled off of her, followed by a hurriedly uttered "Sorry, Lita, didn't mean to…"

"The Pit you didn't mean to…"

"I didn't!"

"Conditions are stable," Ratchet reported loudly over the younger, squabbling bots. "Optimus, orders?"

"Oh, uh, yeah. Right." The commander climbed to his feet, and gentlemanly helped Elita up as well. "Jetfire, keep the wings stable, don't let us tip. We hit one of the sides of the chasm…well, never mind. We keep descending until we receive further information from Alpha Trion." He gestured towards the elderly mech in the corner of the command center. "He'll be giving the orders until this mission is at its end."

"I'm flattered," Trion said, smiling, in a considerably better mood now that the mission was officially underway. "I haven't been in command of anything in a very long time. Yes, it is as Optimus said. We descend until the appropriate altitude is reached--and do try and hurry it up. Perhaps turn off the stabilizers in the ballast tanks, we need more weight. We're on a time limit here, people--we have less than two joors to retrieve the object in question."

"Plenty of time," Jetfire replied with a grin, and turned off the stabilizers.

They plummeted.

* * *

The temperature was definitely cooler than it was supposed to be--but it was hot all the same. The amount of activity on the normally busy ship decreased steadily as they sank further and further into the crevasse. Half a joor after the initial descent began Optimus sank wearily into his command chair, his vents sucking in hot, stale air. Looking around wearily, he noticed similar effects amongst many of the younger members of the crew. 

There was a loud thud; Ultra Magnus had abruptly crossed his legs and plopped his aft down beside the command chair, folding his arms over his chest. If Optimus didn't know better, he would've said the captain was _pouting._

"I give up," Magnus groaned. "And here I thought I could handle _any_ femme. I was wrong, Opt. So wrong. Don't be like me."

"You're being ridiculous," Prime said gently, leaning down to observe his age old friend carefully. "Have you spoken to her yet?"

"Yes," Magnus replied, lifting his optics to the ceiling in an expression of exasperation. "Many times, Optimus. Many, _many_ times. I even hinted that I wanted to take her out after the mission. And she--get this--_she played hard to get._ She just brushed me off. Like I was _nothing_. I mean, what does that mean?"

"Aw, she likes you," Elita snorted, and once again, both jumped badly. (How did she _do_ that?) "She's playing hard to get, Mags, because she wants to see just how interested you are. So you gotta keep pushing, okay?"

"Are you being serious? She's _interested?_ She totally dissed me because she's _interested_?"

"Yup."

Magnus leaned back against the command chair, his optics wide with wonder, and he looked back up at Elita. "You know, I could fall for you. Seriously."

"That goes double for me," she replied cheerfully. "But for now, just go get your femme, okay? And keep your hands off the reserved ones until you get really desperate."

Ultra Magnus grinned and hopped to his feet, and planted a kiss upon her cheek before taking off once more, filled with the same enthusiasm he had been after her first pep talk.

"You're on report for that!" Optimus shouted after him, but fell silent shortly afterwards. In the kind of heat the ALIAH had fallen victim to, getting excited was dangerous. He couldn't help but notice the faint hissing from Elita's vents; she wasn't doing well, either. The commander reached out to her and placed a gentle hand against her side. She looked down, startled, but relaxed when he indicated towards his lap.

"I'm fine, Optimus," she assured him softly, reaching down to run tender fingers over his mask. Her need for the handsome mech was growing with each passing klick; she was absolutely dying to take that mask off and taste his lips again, feel his tongue in her mouth…she shook her head hard on instinct alone, quickly ridding it of the images her processor seemed intent on transmitting these days. If Optimus knew she was thinking like that, it would only fuel his passion further…

"Come here, Elita," he said quietly, and with some nudging by her processor she collapsed into his lap, pressing herself tightly against his strong chassis. His chest felt cool in comparison to the heat of the ship; his coolant systems were undoubtedly working at maximum power…

It was becoming increasingly hard to remember that they were aboard a battleship and not in the dark privacy of his quarters, a fact that was further proven as she abruptly leapt from his embrace.

"Not _here_," she hissed, glowering at him. "Honestly, Optimus, I don't know what to do with you sometimes!"

"You could bond with me," he suggested innocently, and she released a low, frustrated growl.

"How can you possibly be bringing this up now? We're only a few breems away from the center of the planet, and you're talking about bonding again!"

"Relax, Lita, relax," he snorted, smirking very slightly. "Don't get so upset, you need to keep your systems calm in this kind of heat. It doesn't need to be now. Just keep it in mind."

"I am," she said flatly. "Slag it all to Pit, Optimus, I can't get it out of my processor. If you don't want me to pin you down right now and bond my spark with yours I suggest you keep your jaw shut tight--and that wasn't an alternative, by the way," she added coldly, seeing the spark of excitement in his optics at the mere mention of her pinning him down to do _anything_.

"Optimus!" Jetfire shouted urgently from across the bridge, and the bickering couple looked over at him. "Uh--sorry if this is a bad time, but--"

"Corespark in view!" Trion bellowed, and Jet deflated, obviously disappointed; it wasn't every day one got to make an announcement like that.

The ship seemed to explode. Not in the literal sense, but in the sense that every room, quarter, corner, and cranny seemed to erupt with activity. Techs scrambled over each other in their haste to get to their designated monitoring stations, and officers tried to make their yells heard over the resulting din. Optimus flew from his seat with surprising speed for one his size and bolted for the main command module, Elita faithfully at his heels. Ironhide and Chromia joined them moments later, shortly followed by Jazz, Ratchet, and Prowl. Bluestreak and Magnus struggled to contain a very ornery Bumblebee as they joined the small group. Trion shoved past them all to stand quizzically by Jetfire's seat, and Wheeljack managed to poke his head over Elita's shoulder to examine the computer.

"We're exactly a mile above it," Jetfire reported, his fingers drumming hard against the key pad as he zoomed in upon the writhing mass of sheer, unmanned energy below. "We can't go down any further, the shockwaves coming off of that thing will blow us to bits."

"So how do we get down there?" Elita demanded, looking at Trion. "And just where is this Matrix?"

Trion said nothing for what seemed like ages, though can't have really been more than a half breem. His optics narrowed as he gazed upon the Corespark, and at last he nodded and stood up straight.

"Right. We're going down the crevice ourselves. We're going to get as close as we can to the Corespark."

A long, shocked silence followed his bold statement. Optimus finally cleared his throat and asked loudly, "And _then_?"

"We wing it," Trion suggested, grinning.

. E N D . T R A N S M I S S I O N .

**Next chapter: the Corespark arc is drawing to its close…and the method of getting the Matrix is far beyond Jet's logic….or Trion's, for that matter! Author inquiry: Do documents have a life of 60 days or 30?**

* * *

**Poll update:**

**Thanks to all of you who voted on the poll on my profile. Now, I'm going to ask you one more thing: it has has been redone to include only the top choices. Please go back and vote once on that same poll for your favorite pairing to help determine the main couple in my next major fiction. Thank you very much!**


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

_Plenoptic_

**I love just looking back on this fic and seeing how far all of my characters have come since Chapter One. Elita and Optimus have undoubtedly shown the most growth, but no duh because they're, like, the heroes! It's also fun to go back and re-read their first kiss, their first touch, etc etc etc…**

**Oh my gosh, look at all those reviews? Hey--wonder if we can hit two hundred before the series is through? That's my challenge to all of you readers out there! Every review counts!**

**And thanks very much to all of you who have been voting on my poll--after this one closes, I'll try to put up new ones weekly. I've already got about ten figured out…fun stuff in store, fun stuff indeed…Last I checked, I believe IronhideXChromia were in the lead, and OptimusXElita and JazzXProwl were tied for second…greeeeat. I have no idea how to base an entire fic off of IronhideXChromia…anyone got any ideas? Don't waste review space with them, just send me a message from my profile. I'll take everything into careful account.**

**Anyway. Time to wing it again! Please enjoy, PLEASE REVIEW, in that order.**

**Hey, anyone around here watch Metalocalypse? "Go forth and die!" XD Hey you know what's awesome about Alpha Trion? HE HAS A MOUSTACHE!**

. B E G I N . T R A N S M I S S I O N .

It. Was. _Hot._

It wasn't the same type of _hot_ that had overtaken the ALIAH; this was the kind of _hot_ that blanked everything from one's processors except that little gage in the back of one's mind that reported every temperature fluctuation. It was the kind of _hot_ that made you want to run, screaming and crying, for anything besides the source of the demanding, suffocating heat.

It was Optimus Prime's intensive military training that kept him from doing just that as he and a few choice comrades exited the back hatch of the mighty battleship to perch upon a ledge in the chasm's wall. The light from the spark far below danced across their faces, white and tempting. Each bright beam that licked Prime's chassis felt suspiciously cool, welcome relief from the stifling heat that engulfed him in its absence. Elita reached out one small hand and took a weak hold of his fingers; she was shaking very slightly. Noticing this, he moved to support her, but one hard glare from her over bright optics made him reconsider. He hadn't even thought about what these kinds of temperatures would do to his and Ironhide's mates; femmes weren't built for such extreme conditions. Not like mechs were, anyway, and even his accompanying mechs seemed uncomfortable.

"I'd like to remind you that this is a volunteer mission," he said, turning to face his team, all the while keeping a reassuring hand on Elita's shoulder, although she tried to shrug him off. "Anyone who wants to turn back should do so now. You may not have another chance."

"Optimus, get real," Jetfire snorted, peering over the edge of the outcropping and squinting down into the writhing mass of energy far below. "This is a journey into the center of the planet. Into Primus's spark. Do you have any idea what kind of information I could gather from this?"

Typical of a scientist, Optimus mused, looking back at his comrades. "What about all of you?"

"Yeah, like I'm gonna miss this," Jazz chortled, joining Jetfire. "This is gonna be a real riot, man."

"I haven't got anything better to do," Prowl said truthfully.

"I'm trying to impress a femme--" Magnus reasoned.

"If Elita goes, I go too--" Chromia piped up.

"An' she ain't killin' 'erself on mah watch," Ironhide finished, jabbing a thumb in his mate's direction.

"So you can still turn around, Ratch," Elita said with a grin, knowing full well the aging mech would never turn down such a challenge, especially one delivered by a femme--and an attractive one, at that.

"Whether you're all on Ironhide's watch or not, someone's bound to kill themselves," Ratchet sighed. "So I figure I might as well tag along and sparkling-sit you all…again."

"You don't think you'll be needed onboard?" Optimus asked, nodding towards the ship's hatch.

"Unless Bumblebee trips and dents his faceplates, I think they'll somehow survive," the medic replied, clearly amused.

"Don't jinx us, Ratch," Jazz whined, whirling around. "If Bee dents his faceplates, you'll have a lot of blown out audio receptors to repair."

An appreciative snort rose from the small group, but was quickly stifled as Alpha Trion exited the aircraft.

"Goodness, it's rather warm out here, isn't it?" he noted cheerfully, striding over to join Optimus and Elita. And, without another word, stepped backwards off the ledge.

Nine shocked voices cried out, and Optimus and Elita both whirled around and peered over the outcropping.

"Oh, Primus," Elita whispered hoarsely. "Is he…?"

"Trion!" Optimus bellowed, his voice cracking slightly as the panic rose up in his chest, clutching his spark in its icy grip. No…not Alpha Trion…not--

"Jump!" the wizened voice shouted from below, and they immediately released a long sigh of relief. "There's another ledge below, you've just got to remember to catch it as you come down!"

"And if we don't?" Optimus called down worriedly.

"Then I'll see you in Pit!"

Optimus sighed and glanced over at his mate. "I'll go first. You follow, order the others to come afterwards. This mission starts now."

She nodded slowly, and he made to push himself over the edge, only to find himself abruptly clutched tight in her arms.

"I love you," she mumbled, pressing her face into his shoulder.

He turned his head slightly to touch his helm against hers. "No matter what happens, Elita, my love…" But the rest of his words died. Sudden emotion welled in his spark, pulsing love for her…he held her close for a moment longer, memorized her warmth, the curve of her body beneath his hand, the gentleness of her lips upon his cheek as she kissed him…and with a last, reassuring nod, he jumped.

* * *

"I am Jazz, the great robo-monkey! All bow before me!" 

"Slaggit, you little Pit-spawn, get your aft down here!"

"C'mon, Prowl, this is _fun_! Do you know what fun is? It's that warm, happy feeling you get in your spark when--"

"I know what fun is, thanks! But we're ledge-hopping into the slagging core of the planet, I would hardly call this enjoyable!"

"Man, you need to get out more…uh."

"Uh _what_?"

"Prowl, I'm not big enough. I can't make this jump. I mean, my toes'll probably hit the edge and then…"

"Just jump."

"Did you just hear me? Do you _want_ me to die?!"

"No," Prowl grunted, reaching out his arms for the smaller mech on the ledge above. "I'll catch you. Jump. Just trust me, Jazz."

The saboteur blushed ever so slightly, and the subtle gesture was unnoticed by all--except Elita. She smiled slightly and turned away as Jazz made his leap into Prowl's arms, and her grin broadened at the resulting thud as both mechs hit the ground, one on top of the other. _Point for Prowl_, she thought, before looking ahead at the ledge in front of her. It wasn't a particularly long jump, but the heat was getting worse, and her systems had begun to whir worrisomely.

"Need a lift?" Ultra Magnus asked cheerfully, and before she could manage a reply he had swept her into his large arms and hopped easily across the hiatus.

"Whoa! Holy--! Don't _ever_ do that again!" she yelped, hurriedly scrambling to get out of his arms as they landed upon the ledge. "Hands _off_, soldier!"

"Sorry, Commander," he said innocently, bowing his head slightly. The gesture would have been more respectful if it weren't for the fact that he had to look down to see her anyway. Primus, she was short, he mused. "No offense was meant."

She glowered at him a moment longer before her expression softened slightly. It changed once more as she looked at something over his shoulder, and she frowned. "Oh, frag…"

Magnus turned, and his hastily stifled laugh came out as a cross between a snort and a very violent sneeze. Ironhide and Chromia, competitive and stubborn as always, appeared to have engaged in a competition to see who could jump the furthest.

Ignoring, of course, the fact that they were a mile above the deadliest weapon known to their race.

"CHROMIA!" Elita bellowed, so loudly that Magnus actually jumped, startled, and edged away from the abruptly infuriated femme. "IF YOU FALL, SO HELP ME I WILL--"

"If I fall, Lita, there's not much you can do to me!" Chromia called back cheerfully, and Elita scowled. Point made.

"Hurry up back there, all of you!" Trion shouted from far ahead, balancing from his most recent leap. Old though he was, he easily covered distances three times that of Optimus when he jumped from ledge to ledge.

Said commander was having difficulty repressing the sheer insanity and fatality of the mission. Convenient though the ledges undoubtedly were, up ahead the chasm's wall smoothed out; there weren't even decipherable handholds, and that aside Optimus wasn't exactly the athletic type. His large body was definitely a hindrance on this mission.

"Trion, what are we going to do up there?" he asked, gesturing to the flat wall not so far ahead.

"Improvise," Trion replied lightly, making another ridiculously long leap.

Optimus sighed heavily and rolled his optics; they'd be lucky to make it out of this alive. He turned and narrowed his optics; many of his teammates were so far behind it was difficult to make them all out. Prowl and Jazz appeared to be bringing up the rear, though they seemed to have stopped. Optimus cocked his head to better see the source of the delay, and immediately felt an odd lurch in his waste tanks. Okay, so some moments were better left _private…_

"I'm going to need you to move, love," Elita said loudly, and he was quickly snapped from his reverie as he realized he was standing in her way.

"My apologies," he acknowledged, stepping back, and she sprang, cat like, to join him upon the outcropping. His processor flinched resentfully, but he knew all along she was at least ten times as agile as he was. Even if, by some insane circumstance, she needed help crossing the spaces between the ledges, she certainly wouldn't ask him for help. Although he had seen Magnus carry her across at one point…

"Judging by the look of horror your face displayed only moments ago, I'd say you just saw Prowl kissing Jazz," she said brightly, and he gaped at her. "Sorry, I would've told you sooner, but I simply didn't think you really needed to know."

He frowned ever so slightly, and she saw the slight disturbance behind his optics. "I suppose I really didn't need to know my tactician and special operations officer were…well…_that way_."

"They weren't _that way_ originally," Elita reminded him, gauging the distance to the next outcropping. "But love does funny things to people."

"…That's true," he murmured, his optics wandering over her lithe body as she adjusted for the jump. With probably death so near, it seemed ridiculous to be preoccupied with his lover rather than with keeping himself alive, but he couldn't pull his gaze away. She was beautiful. Primus, she was a gift from the Corespark below. The way her body moved stirred a heavy pulse from his spark--as well as some very erotic thoughts from his processor, which he quickly made to stamp out…but instead stored away.

For later.

Elita seemed to sense his gaze, for she turned ever so slightly to find his optics upon her, currently roving over her abdomen and hips. "What?" she asked uncomfortably, suddenly self-conscious.

His optics snapped up to meet hers, and the lustful gaze faded from his expression to be replaced by pure, simple love. "Just looking at you," he said, his tone innocent and polite.

_I'm also imagining you beneath me on my recharge berth, I'm also imagining how your lips taste and what your body feels like when…_

No. Stop thinking like that. NOW.

_Okay, okay. Sorry…but her HIPS…_

Shut up, you fragging glitch head.

_Oh Primus, am I really having this conversation with myself?_

"…I swear, take away the status as commander and you are just like any other mech." Elita shook her head as though she had sensed his perverse thoughts, looking slightly disgusted. "I've half a mind to push you right off that ledge, Optimus Prime."

"Please don't."

"I won't."

"Thank you."

She sighed and stepped so close their chests actually touched, and the air intake in his vents froze. Her fingers reached up to pull away his mask, the hot air was suffocating…her lips trapped his, she kissed him, passionate, loving, _tempting_…her body melded against his, he pressed his optics closed, desperately scrabbling for his focus again…he lost…his hands clutched at her hips, found the beautiful curves of her waist, he felt her fingers dig into the sensitive wiring in his back.

"Keep moving, you two!" Trion shouted, and they leapt apart, startled, and not just a little embarrassed.

"Sorry," she muttered, smiling ruefully, and he returned the gesture with ease.

"Don't be. How long have Jazz and Prowl been…_involved_?"

"Awhile," she admitted, standing back so he could make the jump to the next ledge. He turned and held out a hand to her, which she took before leaping. Just as a precaution. "Prowl was pretty distressed when he figured out what he was feeling. Didn't know how Jazz would react. I told him to quit being such a pansy…"

"Nice. I'm sure he really appreciated that."

"He did. Look at them, so happy together…"

"I'll just keep looking this way, thanks."

"Oh, get over it, Optimus. _Love does weird things--_"

"I know, I know. You've said. Hurry, or Trion'll eat us alive."

"Well, we wouldn't want that, would we?"

The old mech stopped in his previously ceaseless hopping, waiting for his young protégés to join him on the ledge. His expression had turned from one of careless to one of worry, his mouth frowning beneath his metallic moustache. They stood at his side in silence, Optimus watching his comrades making vain attempts to catch up to them. Jetfire was closest, leaping with ease from ledge to ledge, with Ratchet only a little ways behind him. Ironhide and Chromia came next, pausing in between leaps to kiss or grope each other or…whatever else they did when they thought they weren't in public. Jazz and Prowl brought up the rear, both having lapsed into a rather awkward silence--although Optimus was sure they were communicating on some level, be it psychic or…

"We cannot go on," Trion announced, and both commanders turned to look at him.

"Pardon?" Elita said, slightly surprised. "What do you mean?"

"I mean to say that your companions should wait here," Trion said hurriedly, his optics looking a bit panicked. "Optimus, Elita. Only you must continue."

"Why is that?" Optimus asked quietly. He would have preferred, of course, having his team wait for him--this mission was far too dangerous--but he inwardly would have felt much better if he had Ironhide (and his vast array of weapons) at his side when they commenced the final phase of the mission.

Huh. Maybe his processor hadn't matured quite as much as he would have liked to think.

"Because Primus wills it," Trion breathed. "I can feel it."

Optimus and Elita glanced uneasily at one another. Military protocol was extensive--there was a rule for every situation. But their predecessors had apparently never taken the time to think up an appropriate response when your mentor told you, a mile above the planet's core, that a divine entity was calling you.

Because apparently military tight-afts thought that _that_ particular situation would _never_ happen.

_Fraggers_, Optimus thought darkly.

"Please trust me," Trion pleaded quietly, and although Elita obviously had no trouble complying, Optimus understandably had his misgivings.

"If you're so insistent," Optimus sighed. "Will you go back up, Trion, and ask them all to fall back? Tell them to await further orders. And, um…what exactly are we supposed to do?"

"Wing it," Trion said for the millionth time that joor, and without another word began to ascend back the way he'd come.

Optimus turned hesitantly to Elita, who returned his gaze with a very small smile.

"I'll bet Prowl hates this," Prime mumbled, shaking his head slowly. "There is zero logic in what we are doing."

"There doesn't have to be," Elita replied softly, reaching out a hand to her love. "Just trust me."

"Of course," he whispered, intertwining his fingers with hers. His thumb rubbed the back of her hand, maybe more for his own comfort than for hers. Just reminding himself that she was there.

Unchangeably there.

They advanced and leaped and tripped and stumbled into each other's arms until they ran out of outcroppings. The couple paused, teetering precariously on the rim of their rather small ledge; Elita had to wrap her arms around her lover's waist to avoid actually falling backwards.

"Close," she commented nervously.

"Very close," he agreed, hugging her against his chassis. "But I'm not complaining."

"Now what?"

"No idea."

The world fell into chaos's waiting arms.

. T R A N S M I S S I O N . D E L A Y E D .

**The sign in for this site has become really weird, what with the "Type in the two words deal." Today, my sign in words were "Atkinson Blerstadt."**

………………**..Huh. **


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter Nineteen**

_Plenoptic_

**To all you SKEPTICS out there, I used the term "bled to death". But I only used it because "leaked to death" sounded too much like "expiration of life due to an over excessive release of urine". So sue me.**

. B E G I N . T R A N S M I S S I O N .

There was no pain like that pain.

There was no heat like that heat.

There was no light like that light.

The Corespark--the living, beating soul of Primus--awakened in a fiery explosion, in a deafening scream, in a blinding flash of light. The spark swelled, contracted, and then erupted, millions of tons of condensed, unadulterated energy exploded upon itself. It was a miniature black hole--a very bright one. The light was white, ripping the previously cast shadows into nothing. It reared up, burning, alive, and tore apart the walls of the chasm, sending long plates of metal flying in all directions. Ten unfortunate Autobots lost consciousness almost immediately--and were abruptly reawakened into a new state of being altogether.

Just as was sparkbonding, their existence for those few klicks--or were they in fact vorns?--was either incredibly primitive, or incomprehensibly advanced. For those few klicks/vorns, Optimus Prime knew nothing, felt nothing, saw nothing, heard nothing…nothing…

Except for the beating of the spark so close to his.

He did not need to consciously open his optics. He could see without oculars. And although the logic made no sense, logic was irrelevant because each and every one of them had attained an existence for which logic was not needed. Nor were processors. So there was no point in thinking…so there was no need for logic.

Optimus couldn't help but feel that his own musings had just looped around in a complete circle. But the realization was gone in an instant, and once more he was left alone in the whiteness…alone…except for the beautiful femme in his arms, lost in the same state of surreal existence as was he. He could feel her slow breath upon his chest plates, could feel her warm spark pulsing within her…slowly, in unison with his…

_How?_

_We aren't bonded…_

_But our sparks…_

_Because Alpha Trion made my spark like yours…_

_Like mine…_

_Elita…_

What the Pit was happening?

There was no logic. No thinking. No definition. As the Corespark imploded upon itself, morphing, writhing below them…no…there was no below. Or above. It was within them, around them, choking them, drowning them, saving them all at once…

_Is this…_

_Death?_

_Am I dying?_

_No…_

_I can't die…_

_I promised her…_

_I promised Elita…_

_My Elita…_

The light was all around them. It was trapping them. An awesome presence was slowly but inevitably making itself known, ignoring their processors as it reached its long tendrils out to search their sparks…the entity felt past Prowl and Jazz, feeling their sparks…warm, kind…pure…

It felt Ironhide and Chromia, bonded, shared, together, united…pulsing in unison, the area of overlap bright as the light the entity currently emitted…

_A PURE LOVE,_ Primus mused.

The being felt Jetfire. It felt the slight hysteria his spark had plunged into…there was no explanation for why this was happening, no way science could define it…

_REST, MY CHILD, FOR YOU ARE SAFE…_

It felt Ratchet. Weary, aging…lonely? How saddened the mech seemed, watching his younger comrades fall in love…finding their spark mates, finding their happiness, finding ways to erase the pain the war had bestowed upon them…while he himself swallowed his sadness, ignored the scars of fallen comrades and slowly, painfully extinguished sparks.

_FEAR NOT, LITTLE ONE. YOUR TIME SHALL COME…_

Alpha Trion. His spark was as neutral as ever. Quiet, contemplating…it alone reacted to the presence within it.

_Primus…to think an old mech like me would be bestowed such an honor…_

_OF COURSE IT WOULD BE YOU, ALPHA TRION…YOUR CHILDREN ARE…?_

_Just a little more…_

Primus reached out, just a bit further, and felt a sense of gratitude when he found them. Optimus Prime and Elita One. He was surprised at the closeness of their sparks…they were not bonded, and yet…He felt their love, he felt the pulsing desire within each of them, the need to touch the other, to be touched, to be held and kissed and told just how much they meant…how precious one was to the other…He felt them reaching out even in their deteriorated/enhanced state of existence, reaching out, grasping each other, their sparks crying out for one another…_Don't go…_

_Don't leave me…_

_YOU ARE PRIME, _the entity murmured, his being sweeping over the spark of the young mech. For a moment--or maybe it was many--Trion's child did not respond. But then Primus felt it…he felt Optimus Prime reach out tentatively, wanting something…but what…?

_The Matrix…of Leadership…_

The plea was a soft one, barely whispered by the young leader's spark. The small, weak voice was begging, pleading, wanting one thing and one thing only…the right to lead, the right to command the troops…the want to be accepted, and looked up to, and loved…

_BUT YOU HAVE ELITA FOR THAT, DO YOU NOT?_

_The Decepticons…must be stopped…if not…she may not…survive…_

_And I can't…_

_Live without her._

_IT IS THE MATRIX OF LEADERSHIP YOU SEEK._

_Yes._

Primus considered. He had not seen his children since Sentinel Prime had blown the chasm open and thrown the precious relic in himself…and at that time, Primus's spark had been exposed to the outside world…it had roared as the Matrix struck it, had made ready to destroy it…such power conflicted with its own…but Primus had thought better…he had absorbed its essence, stored it away…for someone worthy…

But was the young mech called Optimus Prime the one he had been waiting for?

The commander certainly thought so.

Or maybe he thought he had no choice…

_IF YOU COULD, YOU WOULD LEAVE THIS WAR BEHIND,_ Primus mused. _IF YOU COULD, YOU WOULD ABANDON YOUR STATUS AS COMMANDER…YOU WOULD BOND WITH YOUR ELITA AND NEVER LOOK BACK…YOU WOULD HAVE YOUR LOVE, AND THAT WOULD BE ENOUGH, WOULD IT NOT? YET YOU FIGHT ON…_

_Because it is my duty._

_BECAUSE YOU HAVE A REASON TO FIGHT._

_My little brother…this war has taken him from me. If at all possible, I will take him back. If not…_

_WOULD YOU DESTORY HIM?_

_I would. _

_If it meant I could keep her safe._

_SHE DOES NOT WISH TO BE KEPT SAFE. SHE WISHES TO FIGHT BY YOUR SIDE, MY CHILD. _

_It's dangerous._

_IF YOU ACCEPT HER INTO YOUR SPARK, SHE WILL FOLLOW YOU WHEREVER YOU MAY GO. THE BATTLEFIELD IS NO EXCEPTION. ELITA ONE WISHES TO BE WITH YOU, IN LIFE AND IN DEATH._

_I can't let her do that._

_THEN YOU MUST LET HER GO._

_I can't…do that either._

_THEN YOU ARE IN A FIXTURE OF NEUTRALITY. UNABLE TO DO ONE THING, UNABLE TO DO THE OTHER…_

Primus pondered the conundrum. This mech was young. He was not yet fully matured, though was much more so than other mechs his age. He was strong, and his decisions were made in the spark…not by the logic center of his processor. Though logic was occasionally a valuable tool, Primus mused. Still, this war ravaged his children. It tore them apart. It destroyed their sparks. More than one life had come to rejoin him in the past deca-cycles…Perhaps it was time to take a gamble.

And then there was the issue of something beyond the war. Something greater than Megatron…

Unicron.

Giving the Matrix of Leadership to Optimus Prime would place incredible responsibility on his shoulders. Perhaps it would even burden him with the fate of the universe, with the fates of thousands of lives, thousands of cultures…Would the earnest, charismatic young mech be able to stand up to such pressure?

One spark alone could never do it.

But two…

_BOND WITH HER, OPTIMUS PRIME. SHE WILL BE YOUR LIGHT, YOUR STRENGTH. YOUR HOPE WHEN ALL FAITH HAS RUN DRY. SHE WILL MAKE THE IMPOSSIBLE REALITY…BUT YOU MUST OPEN YOUR SPARK TO HER. _

_I had every intention of doing so…_

Of course. The commander knew where his spark lay. In whose hands it was held. Optimus Prime loved Elita One, loved her as he had never loved anyone before…and no war, enemy, or amount of spilled energon would change that. Whatever pain, whatever trial…

_YES…_

_WITH ELITA ONE AT HIS SIDE…_

_HE WILL SURVIVE._

* * *

The pain was awful. 

It was pain beyond pain, agony beyond agony. If Optimus Prime screamed, he was not aware of it…he was aware of little more than the spark close to his and the incredible pain in his chest. Some great power was in a place it should not have been…and was making itself right at home. He could only vaguely hear Primus's mighty voice within him, around him, swallowing him whole, but he paid it no heed. The pain…the pain, it had to stop…

_Make it stop…_

_Make it stop!_

The Matrix of Leadership. He could feel it. He could feel Primus pull it from the crevices of the planet, he could feel the Matrix pass into his body, pulsing, roaring, its power unfathomable, its might immeasurable…

And the pain.

Then he felt her. He felt Elita One lift slightly from her primitive/advanced state of consciousness, she felt her spark ache as she watched his writhe in pain…as his body was torn apart from the inside out, he felt her touch, he felt her spark painfully close to his, he heard her whisper to him, heard her cry out his name…

The pain stopped.

And then there was nothing.

* * *

"Optimus?" 

He moaned and turned his head aside. Too early to wake up. His body ached. His spark was a dull pulse within his chest. Ah…his chest…he shifted slightly, and white hot pain exploded through his circuits. Warnings flashed briefly across his optics, before the agony ended as quickly as it had come. His vents wheezed weakly, struggling to take in air as he recovered from the abrupt, incredible discomfort…and that was putting it mildly.

"Optimus."

A softer, gentler voice this time. Gentle fingers…a gentle touch. A tender spark, so close…so far…his own ached…

His optics came online abruptly, and he turned his head, squinting in the near darkness.

"Elita," he breathed, his optics widening. She was beautiful…a small smile pulled at her lips as she leaned down to kiss him, resting one hand on his chest as she did so. He braced himself, expecting pain, but her cool touch soothed his spark. He relaxed, and she pulled away, much to his disgruntlement. He reached out to her, ran a hand down her arm and down her side…and froze as his fingers found the extensive amount of mesh secured around her waist.

"You're hurt," he realized, sitting up so fast that every bot in the room literally jumped.

"I'm fine," she soothed, reaching out to stroke his cheek. He caught her hand in his own and held it to his face, his optics locked intensely upon her damaged body. "Rest, Optimus," she murmured gently, moving closer to him. "Your injuries are worse than my own."

"Bull slag," he growled, lifting his optics to meet hers. "Come here."

"Optimus, really…"

"_Come here._"

She sighed heavily and moved to seat herself on the edge of the recharge berth. He placed a hand upon her wounded side, and she grimaced, gentle though his touch was.

"You never should have come," he growled, his optics alive with anger. "You're in pain. You should have stayed at base…"

"What I should and should not have done have no relevance now," she said quietly, reaching out to touch his wide chest. "Optimus, you're badly wounded. Lie down. The rest can come later."

"I agree," Ratchet concurred, and for the first time since his awakening Optimus was alerted to the presence of his other teammates in his room. Ironhide sat at the desk nearby, cradling an unusually quiet Chromia in his arms, his expression unreadable. Jetfire, Prowl, and Alpha Trion were absent, though Jazz sat on the floor, holding a very watery-eyed Bumblebee in his arms.

"See, Bee?" Jazz murmured encouragingly. "Opt's fine. We're all fine. So no more tears, okay?"

"Aw, Bee…" Optimus said distantly, tearing his gaze from his beloved Elita to look down at the sparkling. "Come here, little one."

The tiny bot immediately wrestled himself from Jazz's vice like grasp, and Elita bent down to lift Bumblebee into her arms. However, from there he promptly leapt upon Optimus and burst into previously contained, hysteric sobs.

"What happened?" Optimus asked quietly, rocking the sparkling in his arms as he looked up at his comrades. "What is going on?"

"The Corespark imploded," Ratchet murmured, standing and approaching the wailing sparkling cautiously. "The noise was tremendous, as was the light emitted. And…well…we all know how well our Bumblebee reacts to extremes…"

Bumblebee cried harder, his tears rolling down his bawling faceplates to decorate his chassis. Optimus winced; his audio receptors couldn't take much more of this.

"Where is Alpha Trion?" Elita asked softly, looking up at Ratchet.

"I do not know," the medic replied. "He disappeared somewhere after we got Optimus--"

"But he is on board, isn't he?" Optimus broke in, alarmed.

"…I don't know."

"No! Slaggit, Trion--!" Prime struggled to lift himself from the berth, only to be forcefully pushed down by a rather ill-tempered Ratchet.

"You hold still," the medic growled. "If your wounds start leaking again, I might not be able to save you this time."

"This time?" Prime questioned, dumb founded, and Ratchet nodded.

"When we dragged ya on," Ironhide mumbled, and even the still sniffling Bumblebee turned to look at him, "ya were barely alive, Optimus. Ya weren' breathin', we could only barely detect ah pulse from yahr spahk…we thought we'd lost ya. An' ya were leakin' all ovah th' place…" He swallowed and waved a hand dismissively, a hand covered in dried energon…_mine_, Optimus realized with horror. "We didn' think there was any hope."

"How…?" Optimus murmured, looking from one somber face to the next.

"Elita," Ratchet replied, and a very stunned Optimus turned to look at his mate. "She was able to donate her power…her very life force…her energon…"

"You were hurt to begin with," Prime snapped, and she turned her gaze away from his, biting her lip. "You could have died!"

"You could have, too," she replied quietly, and winced as Optimus hurriedly extracted a protestant Bumblebee from his lap to seize her upper arms.

"You would have thrown your life away for _mine_?" he demanded angrily, his grip tightening upon her. "I'm not worth dying for, Elita!"

"On the contrary," she said coolly, trying to pull away, but his hold was unrelenting.

"I'm…just…gonna take Bee out now…" Jazz mumbled, hurriedly getting to his feet, scooping the sparkling up, and fleeing the room. Optimus and Elita paid him no heed.

"And what the Pit was I supposed to do if you died?!" Optimus roared, his face contorted with anger. "How do you think I would carry on? How would I _survive_? Did you ever once stop to think what it would do to me if--"

"Optimus, I love you!" she snapped, and he broke off, caught off guard. "I wasn't just about to sit back and watch while you bled to death! I was willing to give my life for yours, so of course I was thinking about you! I was thinking of nothing but you! You couldn't die, you made me a promise! You swore…" her voice cracked, "…You swore to bond with me! You promised that I'd be yours, yours and yours alone…and I sure as Pit was not about to let you go and break that promise!"

For a moment, the tension was thick enough that, had he been in the mood, Ironhide could have blown a hole through it with his cannon. Optimus's expression had gone--in exactly two point one klicks, Ratchet noted--from furious to miserable. With a hasty grunt the medic beckoned to Ironhide, and the trigger-happy mech stood up, his beloved Chromia in his arms, and all three exited the room quickly, closing the door behind them and leaving the silent couple in darkness.

Optimus released his iron hold on Elita, moving his hands away awkwardly with a mumbled "I'm sorry." She struggled for words, but in the end settled for a very quiet "Okay." The silence that followed was unbearable, but neither of them could think of the words to fill it.

"Where are Prowl and Jetfire?" Optimus finally managed, but was still unable to meet her gaze.

"They got hurt. Bad. They're in the medical dorm…"

"I see. I'll go see them later…thank them…"

"You need to heal first."

"Sure."

She swallowed nervously. Her mate was clearly not in the talking mood. She hesitated, wondering if he'd make any further attempt at conversation, but as no such motion was forthcoming she stood to leave.

"Elita, wait," he whispered, reaching out and clutching her hand. "Don't go. I'm sorry. I need you. Just…please. Stay."

She turned to gaze at him, biting her lip. He looked helpless, his optics pleading. With a heavy sigh she sank back onto the edge of the berth, and he pulled her close, cradling his love in his massive arms.

"What do you remember?" she murmured, stroking his chest plates absently mindedly. "When the spark imploded…"

"You," he breathed, his lips wandering across her helm.

She titled her head to look at him, confused. "What?"

"I could feel you. I could feel your spark. You were so close, Elita, and I…I've never loved you more than…Oh, Elita," he moaned, clutching her body to his. For those brief moments, it would have been nice to have been able to forget all about the mission…to have been able to forget all except the spark so close to their own…but then the awful truth hit.

"Elita," he gasped, drawing away from her and looking down at her with panicked optics. "The Matrix--?!"

"Shh," she soothed, patting his chest plates. "Right here, my love. Right here. Ratchet's welded your armor for now, to let your wounds heal, but it's there…right alongside your spark."

He took her hand, his optics far away even as they gazed into hers, and she felt her spark's pulse quicken.

"We did it," he murmured, shaking his head in disbelief. "We retrieved the Matrix."

"Yup," she replied dryly, managing a very weak smile. "Funny thing is, I don't remember any of it. None of us really do. The spark imploded, and I think…I thought we all lost consciousness, but Ratchet's got some other weird explanation for it…and then it was over just like…that. We woke up back on the surface, and…the chasm was gone. Closed. There wasn't even a crack left over. And the ALIAH was there, and…" She frowned, clearly struggling to recall the details. "I don't know. I was out of it. I'm sure Magnus carried me on board, and Ironhide and Prowl managed to get you on…"

"Have we taken off?" Optimus asked, feeling suddenly very disoriented.

"Yes, about a joor ago. Poor Bumblebee's been in absolute hysterics, he was convinced you'd actually gone and died."

"You say that like it's such an improbability."

"Of course," she said, smiling wickedly. "If you die I will be forced to kick your aft, and I know you don't want that."

"Primus forbid," he chuckled, pulling her into his iron embrace. "Primus forbid…"

. E N D . T R A N S M I S S I O N .

**The conclusion to "The Search For Alpha Trion--a Parody" should come next chapter. I wanted to leave this one with an aftertaste…**

**Oh yeah, one more thing...for the second time, IN THE DOCUMENT MANAGER, DOES A DOCUMENT HAVE THIRTY DAYS OF LIFE OR SIXTY?**


	20. ARC 3: Light

**ARC3: LIGHT**

**Chapter Twenty!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

_Plenoptic_

**NOTE: To leave the proper aftertaste with this chapter, the finale of the parody has been reset for next chapter. Sorry!**

**A truly great landmark has been reached, has it not? Let's take a second to reflect on what happened ten chapters ago…never mind, I don't remember what happened in chapter ten. **

**So with this chapter we open the third and final story arc. I'm a little sad to see this fic drawing to its close, but I didn't want it to become one of those that just seemed to go on eternally…I felt that it would lose its effect. But worry not, there will undoubtedly be sequels, as well as more fics featuring the pairings mentioned in this fic. **

**Without further ado, let's begin the final leg of this race, shall we? Please enjoy, please review, in that order.**

**Oh yeah-- I had to poke some fun at Moonracer in this chapter. For those of you who have seen The Search For Alpha Trion (and not my parody) you all know how she got trapped in that box thingy…that was hilarious, and Chromia got really mad, too. I was laughing the whole time. Which was not altogether a good thing, seeing as I was in the library…eh heh.**

**This chapter I got to display a more matured Elita, which was really fun. I feel like we've just about achieved the Elita we got to see in that one, priceless episode…**

**NOTE: One previous review mentioned that a conversation in--what, chapter fourteen or so?--made it seem like Jazz and Prowl were already mates. I looked back at this and agreed fully, though that wasn't my intent. I should have been more clear in saying that Prowl **_**wanted **_**Jazz as his partner. Sorry for not clearing that up sooner. I really do just have bad planning. If you have any intention of continuing to read my material, I suggest getting used to it.**

. B E G I N . T R A N S M I S S I O N .

An orn passed. As did a second. As did a third…

They were stalling.

They both knew they were denying the inevitable. Besides, they'd made a promise. And a promise of that magnitude was not one to be broken thoughtlessly. Not that Optimus Prime had any intention of breaking the vow he'd made to his only love--but now that the time was upon them, it seemed an awfully big promise to have to keep.

And of course, Chromia and Ironhide's almost ceaseless pestering didn't help one bit.

"No, we haven't," Elita cut in just as her friend was opening her mouth. "You just asked me about ten klicks ago, Chromia, how could Optimus and I have possibly bonded in _ten klicks_?"

"I was just about to ask where you wanted these, but okay." Chromia shrugged and dropped a few spare data chips onto her commander's desk. "But while we're on the subject--"

"Chromia, drop it!"

"Forget it, Lita! I swear I am going to pound his thick helm into scrap if he doesn't put you out of your misery!"

"Do I honestly look like I'm in misery?"

"Yes! Everyone can see it! Even Moonracer, and for Primus's sake, I've seen more intuitive Dinobot slag! And I mean that with all affection, but _really_."

"I'll tell Moonracer you said that. You can reevaluate just how _intuitive_ she is when you've got her gun barrel up your skid plate."

"Just say aft, Elita."

"Not on base. It's very unbecoming of a commander."

"Who gives a slag? Optimus says it all the time!"

"Yes, well, that's Optimus."

Chromia bit her lip, frustrated at her commander's persistent ignorance of one of the most serious dilemmas a femme could possibly face. "Lita, if this keeps up, you're going to have to make the first move if you want your bondmate so bad," the trigger-happy femme muttered, shaking her head slightly.

"Chromia," Elita replied, looking aghast, "if I make the first move, how _desperate_ is that going to make me seem?"

"Very."

"Exactly! So if Optimus isn't even man enough to ask me to bond with him _for real_, I'm not even going to bother," Elita said firmly, bending back over her computer console. Silence. She shook her head and pushed the key pad away. "Okay. Forget it. I can't work. I give up. I'm going out of my processor, here, Chromia, I can't take it anymore! Does he want to bond with me or doesn't he?"

"You need to talk to him."

"Well, of course I do, but I don't want to make it seem like I've been expecting this," she groaned, rubbing her helm. "And it's not like we've grown apart…we haven't argued in ages…"

"When was the last time you recharged with him?" Chromia demanded, putting her hands on her hips, and Elita floundered for an answer. The weapons officer moaned loudly and flopped down on the chair facing her commander's desk. "_You don't remember!_ Primus, girl, you have _got_ to do something!"

"Why do I have to be the one who puts all the effort into this relationship?" Elita snapped, frustrated. "And don't you have something better to do than get me all riled up?"

"No, not really."

"Maybe Moonracer got herself trapped in the security holds again."

"Nope, I already checked. All plexiglass boxes are empty."

"Firestar got stuck under something?"

"She's in Inferno's quarters."

"You could have just said she was out, that would have sufficed, thanks. As much as I take interest in my soldier's interface lives, I really didn't need--"

"Okay, okay, point made. Just stop talking, please."

The debate was interrupted by a quiet, tentative knock on the door, which was answered by a very irate "C'min." Optimus inched the door open somewhat bashfully, poking his head in.

"Bad time?" he questioned, and Chromia immediately sprang from her seat and practically flew to the door.

"She's all yours," she said brightly, patting Optimus's shoulder, and slipped past him and bounded into the hallway, ignoring Elita's repeated transmissions over the comm. link (_"I hate you I hate you I hate you…"_)

"Are you alright?" Optimus asked as he stepped in and closed the door, making note of his mate's flushed faceplates.

She hurriedly reminded her coolant systems to get their afts into overdrive. "Of course," she replied smoothly, getting up out of her seat to perch herself on the end of her desk. "What's on your processor?"

"Nothing."

"So you came here because…?"

"Do I need a reason to visit my mate in her office?" he asked, folding his arms over his chest and eyeing her skeptically.

She scowled darkly. "I _am_ busy, you know. So I'd love to chat, but--"

"Okay, okay, wait. Elita."

"_What_?" she demanded, sliding off the desk to face him squarely.

He sighed and stepped close, lifting a hand to caress her cheek. The expression in his optics was unreadable, and not for the first time she wished she could see his face…wished she could pull the mask off and hide it forever. She had scarcely contemplated doing just that when he closed the distance between them and took his beloved into his arms, pressing her face into his chest and holding her abdomen to his. He lifted one hand to remove his mask himself before turning his head aside to kiss her helm gently.

"…What is it?" she asked quietly, her fingers tracing the ever-haunting scar in his side. It felt like so long ago…

"It's been a long time since I held you," he replied, bending down further to nuzzle the side of her face. "That's all."

"…Mm," she agreed, wrapping her arms around his waist and holding her love close.

The silence that ensued was a somewhat awkward one, and she couldn't help but sneak the occasional glance at the door--it was usually around this time that someone came in and interrupted them.

But it was he who broke the silence.

"Do you remember the promise I made you?"

She looked up, shocked, and just a tad suspicious; his abrupt jog of memory was placed a little too conveniently for her liking.

"Yes," she said cautiously, and he smiled.

"Would you like to hold me to it?"

* * *

Sparkbonding was an interesting, mysterious thing. Not even those who had experienced it understood it fully. It was so wonderfully different from interface; it was something private, something beautiful, something meant only for two. Interface could take place in mere moments; bonding was something that required an orn of time alone, time to see one's partner in a different environment, time to allow the sparks to come together…

The truth was a terrifying, beautiful thing.

As Elita made her way to Optimus's private living quarters, she felt nostalgia's persistent fingers tugging at her processor. The truth. She'd lost track of how long it had been since that day at the military academy, when that wizened old mech stood before them all, and told them that they had the skills, the guts, the brains, but that many lacked the spark…She smiled faintly as she made her ascent. She'd learned a lot from that old mech. She'd have to back and thank him one day…

And then, there was the first time she met Optimus Prime. The commander. Who had a second in command who was really the spawn of Primus. She laughed in spite of herself; how she had clung to those few bits of information…

And Chasm. She paused slightly, allowing her spark to ache for a moment. Her best friend, her one-time crush, her partner in crime, as their guardians often had referred to them. Elita remembered well the day they had met, the day they had gone to the recruit office together, the line that made the officers laugh themselves to tears, the day she had found out he was inevitably, unchangeably gone. Her spark moaned in pain; she couldn't quite remember her last words to him. The agony had been somewhat eased by the knowledge that the last to see him alive had been Chromia, rather than some vile, hate-filled Decepticon…Elita smirked slightly. Chasm must have died happy…the last thing he saw was a femme's beautiful face.

The femme commander paused and frowned; in her musings, she'd gotten herself lost. She backtracked for awhile until she was sure she was on the right path, then made the proper adjustment and began the long ascent up the base's final winding staircase. The staircase was situated comfortably within a clear tube, and the many higher levels of base were clearly visible as she climbed.

The view didn't make scaling a thousand slaggin' steps any more comfortable.

The base had been built such that officers were never left without anywhere to go. All soldiers were provided with private quarters, officers with quarters and a cubicle, Prime's inner circle with quarters and full-blown office. Optimus and Elita possibly had it easiest; both were entitled to an office, large, spacious quarters, and an entire living area on the uppermost floor. The mini-apartment hadn't gotten any use as of yet; but then, there had been no reason for it.

Sparkbonding, they both felt, was reason enough.

The commander's private apartment floor was a no-man's land. Even Ratchet wasn't allowed up, as angry as it truly made him. If you didn't receive a personal invitation, you stayed the Pit away.

It seemed Elita was the exception.

"That frags it, we're getting a lift installed," said femme moaned, rubbing her thighs as she glared hatefully down at the disgusting amount of stairs she'd been forced to practically crawl up. "_Exercise_ my aft, I get enough of it chasing these mechs around base…"

She stretched widely, and yelped slightly as powerful, encompassing arms folded around her small chassis.

"Got you," Optimus purred, pressing unshielded lips to her cheek. "Took you long enough."

"Stairs," she grunted, settling contentedly back into his chest. "Way too many stairs, Optimus, I swear to Primus…"

He chuckled and released her, indicating towards his door, and she willingly followed him into the mini-apartment.

"I have never been in here, just for the record," he said, closing the door behind her. "I was exploring."

"It's big enough that you've got to explore?"

"Yes. Ratchet didn't even tell me about this place until a few deca-cycles ago…and it would have been so handy if we didn't want to be interrupted," he added, grinning lecherously, and she rolled her optics.

"Uh-huh. Let the expedition commence. Primus, I haven't been in an apartment in…well, since I enlisted, I suppose."

"Huh. This is…this is my first time."

She turned, surprised. "What? Optimus, haven't you ever lived off base?"

"No."

Elita blinked, and looked away quickly, embarrassed. "I…oh. I didn't know. I'm sorry…"

"Don't be. Sentinel Prime raised me in Decagon. Amongst others, of course. Ironhide, Ratchet, Prowl…they've known me since sparklinghood. When Sentinel was campaigning, they took care of me here…they looked after Megatron as well."

"…Yeah, I guess they would have him, too."

He sighed heavily, then walked over to take her into his arms once more. "But that's not what we're here to discuss, is it?" he asked softly, kissing her lightly.

"Who ever said we needed to discuss anything?" she snorted, snuggling closer.

"I hope you're kidding. We've got a lot to talk about, Elita."

"Like what?"

"Sparklings," he said seriously, and she winced. _Mother._ "Our careers. How about being bonded in general?"

"Later," she moaned, nudging him towards the prominent recharge berth in the corner of the room to their right. "When was the last time we recharged together, Optimus?"

He struggled for a moment, and she smirked.

_Chromia's smarter than I give her credit for._

* * *

The night passed. The day came. The cycle was familiar, comfortable; but on that morning, it had much more significance than ever.

It was the start of their bonding period.

Elita One sighed heavily and brought her optics online, her systems coming to life with a protestant whir. She was immediately aware of the mech pressed to her back, his legs tangled with hers. One hand had snaked over her waist in the night to rest upon her abdomen, almost as if already anticipating the pulse of a little one's spark. She smiled faintly and disentangled herself from her lover, yawning as she did so. He grunted as though in protest when she was forced to wrench herself from his arms, and as she sat up he lifted his head, blinking in the bright morning light.

"Too early, love," he groaned, rolling onto his back and stretching his sore joints with a long sigh. "We could recharge for another half joor at least…"

"The sun's up, Optimus."

"You're talking like we've got somewhere to go," he mumbled, rubbing dust away from his optic lenses as he sat up.

She paused and bit her lip; he made a good point. She slowly relaxed herself back onto the berth, and he happily took her back into his arms. "True," she grunted. "I forgot."

"You forgot," he snorted, kissing her helm. "It's the start of our bonding period, and you _forgot_?"

"It's not every day I can recharge past dawn," she grumbled, attempting to scoot away from him, but he only laughed and held her tighter.

"You've been working too hard," he said, stroking her cheek absently as his optics drank in her beautiful features. "Every time I checked on you in your quarters, you were always sound asleep."

"We're fighting a war here, Optimus," she replied darkly, frowning slightly. "There's a lot more to do than just fill out paperwork anymore."

"True," he mused softly, stretching back out upon the berth and turning his optics to the ceiling. "True…"

"Hey," she said gently, rolling over to snuggle into his side. "That's not what we're here for."

"Right again," he snorted, turning over and running a hand over her hip. "Slag paperwork for an orn. You'll be lucky to see the rest of the quarters if I have my way."

"You're going to keep me trapped on the recharge berth?" she asked, lifting an optic ridge.

"Yes," he said simply, before bending down to kiss her.

* * *

The night was quiet. It was cool. The wind that drifted in through the window chilled her exposed body, and she sank deeper into his welcoming embrace. The battle armor had become a hindrance after the first three nights or so, and in the end they had both stripped it away. There remained, of course, the primary plating structure, tinted lightly with the colors their armor bore, but all in all she felt painfully bare. Whether he did or not she did not know; then again, she mused irritably, maybe mechs didn't really give a slag if they were virtually naked or not.

She grunted in disapproval when he sat up abruptly, frowning hard. She lifted one hand and attempted to pull him back down; it was too cold.

"I'm thinking," he mumbled, shaking her hand off.

"Then come think down here, I'm freezing."

He glanced down to look at her, and his mouth twitched slightly into a smile. "You're not _really_ naked, you know. You've still got your plates."

"It's more naked than I've been in a long time, and by the way, _I'm freezing._"

He laughed and stretched back out, and she immediately pressed herself against him, burying her small body in between his and the soft foil that covered the bed. He propped himself up on one elbow, resting his head against his knuckles as he gazed down at her.

"How long are you going to make me wait?" he asked quietly.

"Nng?" she replied, speaking into his chest.

"I mean until you're ready to bond with me."

She sat up faster than he would have thought possible, her expression furious. "_Excuse me_? I came with you, didn't I? You haven't let me out of the recharge berth! I've been waiting on _you_!"

"Okay, okay!" he said, raising his hands in a submissive gesture. "I give! I'm sorry, Lita, just calm down…"

After a moment's hesitation she cautiously settled back against him, and he immediately pulled her into his kiss. She lost herself for a moment, feeling his lips again, his tongue in her mouth, how it felt to have his mouth relax and come back against hers, his hands clutching at her body and drawing her ever closer, until the space between them was nonexistent. Her interface systems stayed quiet for once, almost as if her spark were shushing them--for it knew what was coming.

He shuddered slightly as her fingers inched upwards to gently slide his chest plates apart. The warmth she immediately felt was incredible. She pulled her lips from his to look down, and her optics widened.

"Optimus…" she whispered, but further words failed her.

His spark. Pulsing, mighty, a miracle all on its own. A calm, beautiful mass of sheer, untamed energy, beating within his chest, his body. It lit up her face, casting its blue light upon her, inviting, patient, but waiting. She reached in with tentative fingers to stroke the outer edge of his spark casing. He trembled slightly, but did not stir as she continued her cautious probe. The mere thought of joining with something of that magnitude, something so incredibly beautiful, so powerful…

"I can't…I'm not…" she began helplessly, but he shook his head slowly, his optics locked upon her as were hers upon his spark.

"Don't even start, Elita. I love you. You love me. Why deny the inevitable? You will be mine…tonight, tomorrow, or in orns to follow. I'll wait vorns if I have to…as long as I get you at some point."

She swallowed. She couldn't argue with him; what she wanted more than anything in the universe was the bond with the mech that lay only centimeters away. He moaned quietly as her fingers surpassed the casing to lightly ghost over his spark. Tiny blue pinpricks of light danced to meet her wandering digits, as though already eager to become a part of the femme. She smiled slightly; each tiny beam from his spark seemed to have a life of its own.

Elita didn't stir from her trance as his hands lifted to ease her chest plates apart, exposing her spark, and only when he traced a finger over her spark casing did she look up at him, her face illuminated in the darkness. She shook her head wordlessly; there was nothing to be said.

There was a moment of silence--a moment in which each of them caressed the other's spark, lost in their own thoughts. Thoughts that, by the end of the orn, would be shared with another. He thought distantly of the day he'd first touched her, first clasped her hand for that brief moment.

The first time he had caressed her cheek.

His arms wrapping around her waist.

His lips lightly brushing her cheek, the closeness of his mouth to hers, and that Pit-slagged recruit throwing the door open.

His hands touching her hips.

Her breath, warm and slightly frantic, in the briefest of moments before his lips closed over hers, as he kissed his newfound love.

Her curvaceous body shifting slightly beneath him, her face relaxed, her fingers absently tracing the long scar in his side.

The laughs, the smiles, the tears in between.

Those final moments with her before the most recent mission.

Feeling her spark so close to his as Primus was before them.

The precious time they'd been given aboard the ALIAH before their normal, mundane lives had resumed…suddenly flavored with the prospect of a sparkmate.

It was an incredible, wonderful thing, knowing that in mere moments neither would ever have to wander through life alone. Knowing that in mere moments, they would access their true second half, find the missing pieces of their spark.

Did Primus make it that way? Had the god given each and every one of his children half a spark, half a world, so that they might go and seek the absent shards of their existence? It was a comforting way of thinking about it; knowing that, in bonding with the lover so close to them, that they would gain the rest of their lives.

Optimus pulled Elita's body against his.

Their sparks touched. At first, there was nothing--there was a state of neutrality, of shock, as each registered the abrupt presence of the other. Then, the locks were undone, all keys fell into place, and each life found its missing pieces, found the love and devotion needed to fill the holes. Their processors were brought offline immediately, but it no longer mattered. The sensation was far less extreme than their out-of-body experience near the Corespark, but it was at least a hundred times more enjoyable.

There was no comprehension of what was even happening at first. Once the first cautious tendrils of energy connected, there was no telling what would occur between those sparks, and there was no stopping whatever did. Optimus's spark pressed to Elita's, hers to his, each embodiment searching the other, melding with the other, filling in the many holes and wounds that marred each.

Consciousness began to return to the two bots, they regained just a bit more control over the situation; but neither wanted it to end. Their sparks were connecting, _bonding_, for Primus's sake; to pull away now would mean tearing their own spark nearly in two. But Elita had no intention of parting from her beloved mech any time soon. In moments she would be a part of him, and he a part of her. It was unchangeable, inevitable, undeniable…

It was beyond passion, beyond lust, beyond love itself. It was a sense of rightness, a sense that this was how things were simply _meant to be_. Optimus Prime was meant to be with Elita One, Elita One was meant to be with Optimus Prime. This was right. This was how it was supposed to be. This was what Primus had envisioned when he had permitted their sparks life. One completed the other.

That was just how it was.

The pain was easing--a pain Optimus had never been conscious of. The pain of being separated from the femme he had known for a while as his mother, the pain of losing his one and only brother, the pain of growing up and apart from the mechs who had so devotedly rocked him to sleep at night so long ago. His spark had been torn, ripped, wounded beyond comprehension, beyond recognition--and here she was. Her spark. Touching his, bonding with his, filling in the gaps and aching chasms, soothing, tender.

And the pain was snuffed out like a shadow by the sun.

What was this?

Destiny?

Was it simply…there?

How long had his life been leading up to this?

All along?

From the moment he set optics on her?

From the moment of his birth?

From the moment time itself began.

The magnitude of the bonding eased. The sparks relaxed, each now containing components of the other--whole. Elita found it hard to describe how exactly she felt. Content? Warm? Complete? Complete was a good word for it. Warm also was good. And she was undoubtedly content. She was comfortable, relaxed, right where she was meant to be at that moment. She lifted cautious optics to gaze into his face. He looked down, and a smile spread across his face, his optics warm with affection.

Not much had truly changed. There were still two bots. Two Autobots, two soldiers, two lives. Two loves, each slightly different from the other. Two processors, two minds, two personalities. Two equally determined, equally stubborn, equally rebellious natures. Two pairs of optics, unchanged in the amount of love they radiated. Two pairs of lips that pulled together for the second time that night.

But one spark.

. E N D . T R A N S M I S S I O N .


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter Twenty One**

_Plenoptic_

**Twenty one is divisible by seven. This is a good chapter. I can feel it. The fingers are itching…**

**Okay, I lied. I was so drummed up about this arc that I had trouble writing CORESPARK…and now that I'm here, I'm stumped. I don't want this fic to end…**

**Thanks to Bluebird Soaring, who sent me some pretty fantastic advice as to an IronhideXChromia based fic. At first I let the idea she sent settle in the back of my brain…then, in homeroom, it was like, BAM! Idea! So I whipped out my handy story planner (already full of ideas) and wrote it down. Unfortunately, in doing this I didn't get to finish my history homework…so if I get a bad grade on it, it's all your fault, Bluebird! (But just kidding.) Thanks for the idea, much appreciated. (Optimus and Elita will be happy to have the spotlight taken off of them. :D)**

**Optimus and Elita somehow got deleted from my computer's dictionary…how tragic! (Adds them again)**

**Oh yeah, one more thing. For those of you hard core OptimusXElita fans (and just for those of you who like seeing them together) I am going to point you in one direction only. Right after you read this chapter, go up to search. Search by story title. Search "Decisions", by Phoenix13 (Heh heh…wonder if she's digi-glaring at me right now:D) Not only did this story (seven chapters, and APPARENTLY we were supposed to get a chapter eight!) give me a much needed look at the elusive character of Elita One, but it inspired me to write this series in and of itself.**

**Am I being obnoxious, recommending a story that was written a few years (I think) ago? I think so, but nothing makes me angrier than unappreciated literary works. And unappreciated authors. **

**You have your orders.**

**Now read the frickin' chapter.**

. B E G I N . T R A N S M I S S I O N .

**One vorn after previous events…**

_**Autobot City**_

_**Med bay**_

Ratchet sighed, and for the first time in a long time, it was a very content gesture. The Decepticons were quiet--always a good thing, in his opinion. Less interface appliances to fix. The twins had already been to see him that day, so no unexpected surprises from them. Hard to believe they were cadets already. The femmes had already poked their heads in to ask him if he'd found himself a mate yet (something they'd taken to rather frequently, as by now even Springer had managed to land himself with the lustrous Arcee), and Ironhide had come in joors ago and babbled happily about his sparkling. So those fun little distractions were out of the way…

The medic paused in his routine sweep of the bay to ponder. Funny, when the bay was empty, he could actually hear himself _think_. Miracles really _did_ happen.

His pleasure at his own joke was short lived…he was reflected. A lot had happened in the past vorn. A _lot_. He saddened slightly as he thought about it: the battles, the energon that was spilled, the tears that had been shed, the moans of agony that had cut through the dying day. The orns had melted into one long, continuous thread, ever weaving itself callously through fate, ever playing with their very breakable lives…

Some things, he felt, still remained unchanged. Ironhide was still a trigger-happy, loud buffoon. The twins still got into too much trouble. Bumblebee still cried, older though he was. Not _that_ much older, Ratchet mused with a sigh. Prowl still worried, Jazz didn't worry enough, Chromia still whined (though only on occasion), Ultra Magnus (having finally won his precious Blazer's spark) was still a love struck, interface-centered…Ratchet let the thought drop. Blazer had told Ultra Magnus on various occasions _exactly_ what she thought about his…_cravings,_ and each repetition was followed by an increasingly energetic knee to the crotch plating.

Magnus and his interface appliance were frequent guests in the med bay.

Ratchet paused as he wiped down his operating berth, and a small smile played across his faceplates. He'd forgotten someone in his reflection. Two someones, actually. Though more mature, though older and more logical, they were every bit the romantic, fondling couple they'd been a vorn ago…though only in private.

War did things to people. It warped them, changed them, made them irrevocably different. Throughout his career as a medic, Ratchet had seen many a couple break apart at the hands of this war…yet Optimus Prime and Elita One had stayed true.

Eh, the sparkbonding could have had something to do with it…

"Ratchet?"

Elita One's velvet, cautious voice made the tired medic look up, but his faceplates glowed with his smile. "Elita. What can I do for you?"

The lovely femme leaned against the countertop, her beautiful features illuminated in the glow of the dying sun. Her rosy armor just barely caught the last, brilliant rays of light; Ratchet often wondered if she intentionally positioned herself so it would do just that.

Knowing Elita, probably not. But looking at the coveted curves of her body, a long-partnerless mech couldn't help but wonder.

"You're too nice to me, you know," she said, releasing a long breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "You make me feel bad. I've got no way to pay you back."

"Someone has to have the sense to treat a femme like she deserves to be treated," Ratchet replied smugly, and she couldn't help but smile. They both knew perfectly well that since becoming commander Elita had completely abolished the thinking that touching a femme's aft without permission was okay.

The rifle-in-crotch defense had instead been instigated.

Optimus had volunteered (against his will, coincidentally) for the demonstration.

It really wasn't easy repairing interface appliances that big.

"What's wrong?" Ratchet asked, leaning on the countertop across from the suddenly quiet femme. "Elita?"

"…I'm in trouble, Ratch."

"Why?" he asked sharply, bristling. "Did someone hurt you? Did someone try to touch you? Because if they did, I swear to Primus I'll--"

She laughed gently, shaking her head. "No, no. Nothing like that. I just…" she trailed off, suddenly very preoccupied with a patch of dust the medic had missed in his normally very thorough cleaning process.

"I won't criticize, you know," he said quietly, reaching over and placing one of his large hands on hers. "I won't ridicule. I won't tell anyone. You can trust me."

"I know I can," she said nervously, lifting her optics to look at him. "I…when you say you won't tell anyone, that includes Optimus, right?"

He blinked, taken aback. "Of course, I suppose…if you really feel you need to hide it from him."

"I don't _want_ to," she replied, clearly frustrated with her own indecision. "But…until I know how he'll react…I just can't tell him yet. I just don't know where else to turn…"

"You didn't feel that you could talk to Chromia?" Strange. The two had long been the best of friends…

"The little psychopath can't keep her mouth shut," Elita moaned tragically, and he nodded in all sympathy. It had been Chromia who had spread the rumor that he was passionately in love with Red Alert.

Whoever said that mechs couldn't punch femmes was an idiot.

"If you're not ready to tell me…" he began gently, but she shook her head hard, cutting him off.

"No. I've got tell someone, because…if it happens to soon, and I don't know what to do…_swear_ you won't tell Optimus."

"Not a word."

"To Primus and Primacon."

"Absolutely."

"I need to hear you say it."

He rolled his optics at her childishness. "I swear to Primus and Primacon that not a word of what you tell me next will be relayed to your spark mate or any other given being on this base."

She nodded, seemingly satisfied, and leaned closer to him. "I know what's happening, Ratch, but I need some confirmation…"

Though they were alone, she whispered into his audio receptor.

And his jaw dropped.

* * *

The command center was unusually quiet. Then again, Optimus Prime reminded himself, so were the Decepticons. He sighed heavily and shifted somewhat uncomfortably on his usual perch in his chair, overseeing the activity below from the command balcony. What he wouldn't give to be in the shooting range with Ironhide, blowing off pent up energy…either that, he decided, or upon his recharge berth with his favorite femme curled in his arms.

Almost on cue, the doors slid open with a barely audible hiss, but he didn't need to see her to feel her arrival. The accelerated pulsing of his spark was enough. He got to his feet and turned around, and a small spread across his lips beneath his mask. "Elita."

He opened his arms for her, and she went to him willingly, allowing him to hug her tightly to his chassis. She pulled away from him gently, and he followed her, puppy-like, to the edge of the balcony. She leaned against the railing, her optics narrowing as she carefully inspected the slightly rambunctious behavior below.

"Slow work day," he said apologetically, wincing. Loved her though he did, since her arrival activity on base had become much less light-hearted. "Ironhide took off for the shooting range about a half joor ago…"

"I know," she said grudgingly. "Chromia left me with her shift to join him."

Optimus chuckled. It would be hard for his gruff friend to focus on shooting the slag out of drones with his beautiful sparkmate within groping distance.

The bold commander paused in his musings; something wasn't right. Elita wasn't one to pamper her mech during daylight hours--it was unusual for her to come and see him for no reason. On the contrary, it was usually the other way around. Yet here she stood, in his vicinity--and not saying a word. He felt small stirrings of discontent in her spark, and he nudged her gently through their bond. Elita glanced over her shoulder at him, but could barely manage a very subtle smile before turning away with a much more potent sigh.

"Lita," he said softly, stepping to her side and stroking her back. "What's wrong, love?"

"It's nothing," she mumbled, bowing her head slightly. He bent lower and discovered that her gesture was a façade to hide a grimace of obvious discomfort.

"Elita!" he said, shocked. "Elita, you're hurting."

"Oh, stop," she snorted, regaining herself a little as she rolled her optics. "I'm fine. You worry too much."

He frowned hard, his optics boring into her, and she sighed and turned to face her love. She reached up and cupped his face in her gentle hands, easing him down to her eyelevel. He allowed his optics to drift closed as her lips brushed over his mask, her warm breath sending a tingle through his circuits. He gritted his teeth against a subtle whirring in his systems; apparently even full grown mechs could feel desire.

And Primus, did he feel it.

"Optimus," she said softly, and he shuddered audibly. His name sounded a lot better when she whispered it like that. "If you keep worrying senselessly, you are going to get prematurely _old_."

He smirked and allowed a hand to ghost over her hip. "If you keep tempting me, love, you are going to be prematurely dragged to my recharge berth."

Elita laughed and planted a short kiss upon his helm before releasing her hold on him. He straightened, and she turned back to the command center below. Her frame relaxed slightly as his gentle hand eased itself between her shoulder plates, massaging the tense cords underneath. She'd been like this for nearly an orn now: quiet, fidgety, high strung. And the occasional look of pain that crossed her stunning face, the slight moan that escaped her audio receptors when he eased her onto their recharge berth…

"I don't know what's wrong," he said quietly, pressing closer to his one and only love. "But if you need me to do something, I'm right here."

She winced. "I hate it when you worry about me like that, Optimus," she murmured. "You've got other matters on your processors."

He removed his mask and bent over to press his lips to her cheek. She turned her head aside and kissed him, wanting his lips more than anything else in the world. Wanting his tongue in her mouth and his hands caressing her body, his spark pulsing against hers. She wanted to hear him pant when she released him from her kiss, overtaken by passion, by love…just like it used to be. But, ever the modest leader (in public), he pulled away far too soon and replaced his mask.

"I can't help but worry, my love," he said, stroking her cheek affectionately. "I've had too many close calls with you."

She snorted and rolled her optics, turning to gaze back down at the fluster of activity below. Optimus frowned slightly, leaning over the railing and squinting into the suddenly bustling crowd.

"The Pit…?" Elita murmured, her optics narrowing suspiciously.

A wail met their audio receptors. A high, piercing shriek, one of such incredible decibels that many mechs backed away from its source, clutching their heads and moaning. The cry was coming straight from the mouth of a very ornery sparkling, who was currently clutched in Jazz's arms, more being smothered and thus shut up than comforted. The saboteur looked up at his watching commanders and shouted something, but was drowned out by another deafening scream.

"'Ey! Wha's goin' on in here?"

The heavy accent was greeted by many sighs of relief. Ironhide stalked through the doors of the command center, glowering at the First Lieutenant.

"If ya made 'er cry again, Jazz…" he growled threateningly, but the saboteur shook his head frantically.

"I swear it wasn't me, 'Hide! She just…I dunno…got stepped on or something?"

The weapons specialist swelled, his armor puffing out to twice their normal occupation of space. A few terrified mechs shrunk away. Whoever was stupid enough to actually place their filthy foot upon Ironhide's sparkling was the first candidate in the "slagged to Pit" category.

"Come here, lil' one," Ironhide said gently, lifting one of his two most beloved femmes into his arms before shoving Jazz away with a foot. "Wha'd they do to ya?"

The sparkling released an audible sniff, gazing at her father with watery optics. All she was capable of at this point were a few shaky chirps, and maybe a warble on a good day, but it was enough for Ironhide to reach a verdict.

"Optimus, it's all yer fault!" he shouted up at his commander (ignoring, of course, the fact that Optimus hadn't moved his butt from the command chair almost all day, much less been walking around within stepping distance of the sparkling).

Prime rolled his optics. "Oh, how terrible of me. I'm dreadfully sorry."

"Ya should be! Steppin' on ah spahkling like tha', ya should be ashamed!"

"Oh, believe me, I _am_. And I couldn't be more guilty. Forgive me, Ironhide…Catalyst," he added, inclining his head respectfully towards the sparkling, who reached out to him in an endearing fashion with a delighted click. Optimus had been favorite playmate number one since the day of her creation (next to her parents, of course).

A few smirks passed among the watching crowd, and as it began to dissipate Ironhide clomped up the stairs adjoining the balcony to the rest of the command center.

"How was your workout?" Optimus questioned, willingly taking the wriggly sparkling from her father's arms. She snuggled happily into his chassis, clicking ecstatically. "Hello to you too, little one."

"Did Chromia beat you again?" Elita asked smugly, and Ironhide scowled at her.

"No," he said defensively, puffing out his chest proudly. "Ah beat 'er this tahm."

"This time?" the couple questioned instantaneously, equally amused, and the weapons specialist deflated slightly with an uttered "Ya guys suck."

Catalyst poked her head curiously over the crook of Optimus's arm and waved brightly at Elita, but dove back into her shelter with a giggle when the femme opened her arms to her.

"Ah, well," Elita laughed, reaching towards Optimus's midsection to tickle the sparkling, heralding a nearly hysteric squeal of delight. "She'll come around."

"It's because you're not a mother yet," Optimus said innocently, and flinched at the acidic look his bonded delivered to him.

"Bumblebee always let me hold him, if I recall correctly," she replied coolly, her tone nearly as cold as her optics.

"I know, I know…" Optimus broke off, unable to defend his own theory, and instead went back to playing with the sparkling in his arms. Though Elita said nothing more, he could feel her spark churning within her, full of indecision. He prodded her gently through their bond, but felt her pull away, shielding her spark from his. Optimus looked over at his beloved, his optics narrowing slightly; there was something she wasn't ready to say.

Acute as he was to his commander's feelings, Ironhide mumbled something about Chromia wanting him before dutifully scooping his sparkling from Optimus's arms and hurrying off, his head bowed very slightly.

"When do you get off shift?" Elita asked quietly, looking up at her lover.

"A half joor or so," he replied swiftly, locking her in his intense gaze. "Why?"

She sighed heavily, her shoulders sagging in noticeable defeat. "I'll meet you in your quarters, okay? There's something I need to tell you."

"Something you've been keeping from me?"

"Optimus, please," she begged, and there was such desperation in her optics that he immediately regretted his cold tone. "You'll see why when I tell you, just…please."

"Okay," he said, softening. He made to embrace her, but she took a careful step backwards, sending a surge of apologetic spasms through their sparkbond.

Unexplainably afraid, she left.

* * *

Optimus stood nervously outside his own door, gazing at the key pad with apprehension, as if it had been keeping secrets as well. Not that he was bitter; he couldn't not forgive her. Not when she was so obviously in so much distress.

He inhaled deeply and lifted a hand to hammer in the code as usual, when the door abruptly slid open, and his sparkmate was before him. Elita smiled warmly and extended a hand, which he gratefully took. She pulled him inside, not even bothering to secure the door before pulling away his mask and kissing him hard. He allowed himself only a moment's worth of her lips before drawing back.

"At least shut the door, love," he purred, letting one hand wander to the disengage button upon the control pad. She placed her hands upon her delightfully curved hips, and waited patiently until the door had slid shut before jumping on him again. Ever the smooth operator, he swept his femme into his arms and carried her to their recharge berth. He eased her upon it, never breaking their kiss. She shuddered as one naughty hand stole to her side, ghosting over her hips and thigh to rest in the crook of her knee. He caught up her leg and hitched it around his waist, content to allow his femme every luxury his strong body had to offer. It felt very suspiciously like one fateful interface during which they'd been rudely interrupted by Ratchet. That felt like so long ago…before the fateful mission during which Elita had been captured and very nearly forced into sparkbonding with Megatron.

The memory caused Optimus to pause, his lips lifting away from hers. She blinked open her optics, the absense of his warm mouth disturbing. He looked troubled, his optics clouded over and his lips pulled into a frown.

"What?" she asked softly, caressing his cheek gently. "Not good enough for you?" she added jokingly.

He shook his head slowly, and she almost pouted. Almost. "No…I'm just thinking. When Megatron was so desperate to get his claws on the Ellipses program…what he almost did to you…" he shuddered, and she surpressed the urge to throw her arms around his neck. "I almost lost you that day."

"I would have come back to you," she whispered, her fingers tracing his handsome features. He reached up to hold her hand to his face, closing his optics lazily.

"You wouldn't have been mine, though," he murmured. "Your spark would have been eternally bonded to _his_…"

Elita shuddered. She could only imagine…not that she wanted to. She had no idea what being bonded to the cruel Decepticon would have been like…but she was quite sure that she would not have liked it. No, she much preferred the warm, gentle mech atop her to Megatron's cold, prying claws.

"I'm yours now," she assured him, snaking her arms around his midsection and pulling his body against hers. "And you might not get me for another orn if Prowl keeps organizing these insane shifts."

"True," Optimus mused, leaning down to kiss her gently. His head came up abruptly, and he was frowning again. "You had something you wanted to tell me."

She groaned loudly and shook her head. "Not now. I don't know when I'll get you like this again."

"Elita, you're upset. I need to know."

"I must have snagged the only mech on Cybertron who prefers talking to interface."

"Believe me," he snorted, stroking her inner thigh and sending a shiver through her circuits, "if there weren't words in our way, I wouldn't let you off this recharge berth for the next vorn. But it's clear to me that there's something you want very much to say. So I am listening."

She bit her lip, and with a soft chuckle he lifted a hand and placed it upon her abdomen suggestively. "Don't worry. Say what you need to say, and after that, you are mine."

Elita nodded slowly, but when he began to lift away she clutched his hand and held it to her abdomen. "Wait," she said in answer to his unasked question.

He settled back against her, her midsection warm beneath his hand. He took the briefest of moments to take her in, breathe in her beauty, appreciate the curves of her lithe body…and he felt it. The faintest of pulses beneath his fingers, the flutter of a sparkbeat. He stared down at her abdominal region, optics wide, and flinched as the pulse once again sent a hysteric message through his circuits. He looked up slowly to meet her gaze.

"You…you're…a…I…" he stuttered, shocked into near numbness. "S-Spark…"

"Sparkling?" she prompted quietly. He nodded dumbly. She sighed heavily and sat up, and he straightened up right along with her. "Listen," she murmured, taking one of his hands in hers and lifting the other to caress his face. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I was…" she hesitated. She didn't want to say _afraid_. She'd given up fear long ago. It was the only logical way to lead. But…when it came to her mech… "Optimus, I was afraid. I didn't know how you'd react…I didn't know how to…how to _face this_. I don't know the first thing about raising sparklings, and I…"

"Elita," he said hoarsely.

"What?" she asked, somewhat nervously.

A smile abruptly spread across his faceplates, lighting up his face and brightening his optics. "I'm going to be a _father!_"

. E N D . T R A N S M I S S I O N .


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter Twenty Two**

_Plenoptic_

**So here we stand at chapter twenty two! Uh, I was just looking at the previous chapter…I discovered one of the worst technical mistakes EVER. Writes I: "…moan that escaped her audio receptors."**

**Yes, because we all definitely moan through our EARS.**

**(Bangs head on table)**

**Anyway, the cost of improper editing. That's a lie. I didn't edit that chapter at all…anyway, that shoulda been "voice transmitter." Sorry bout that…Oh yeah, I have a new story recommendation! This one is called Night Fire, by Litahatchee. It's a really wonderful story about Ironhide and Chromia, and their relationship. It's totally sweet, totally funny, and then…so sad I was just about crying. It IS rated M, for some extreme violence, but if you can handle a lot of depressing concepts I totally recommend it. Litahatchee also happens to be one of this story's most loyal reviewers…I really appreciate her comments. I don't think you get carried away at all:D**

**Please enjoy, please review, in that order.**

**And, as a special treat: A DISCLAIMER! I don't own Transformers. Hasbro does. But I wouldn't mind owning Jetfire. Zoom!**

**NOTENOTENOTENOTENOTE!!!!!!!!!!! I use "sparking" as a substitute for "giving birth." JFYI.**

. B E G I N . T R A N S M I S S I O N .

"WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME?!"

"Sorry, Chromia."

"What about me?!"

"Sorry to you too, Moonracer."

"And me?"

"What about you?"

"Aren't you going to apologize?!"

"No."

Firestar swelled indignantly, perfectly ready to burst into one of her infamous rants, but Elita laughed and held up a hand. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry to you as well."

"You better be," the young femme growled, crossing her arms over her chest.

"So when were you planning on telling us, exactly?" Chromia demanded.

"Whenever I saw fit for you to know."

Chromia groaned loudly. "I cannot believe you! I told you the second Ratch confirmed that I'd be sparking! And you hold out on us! I had to actually tackle the stupid medic as well as _Optimus_ to figure out what was wrong with you."

"Opt is giddy, by the way," Moonracer added. "He actually hugged me this morning. Do you know how awkward that was?"

"Very," Elita replied, wincing. It was still almost too painful to even think about. A vorn ago, Optimus had very nearly been forced to bond with the femme…Elita shuddered. Those had been dark times for both of them.

"Of course, now our little Moonracer has that idiot Powerglide to keep her company," Chromia cooed, patting the younger femme's head. "Good going, by the way. He's a cutie. Obnoxious, spoiled, but…yeah, a cutie."

"Mute it!" Moonracer snapped hotly, her faceplates darkening. "We _work_ together, alright?"

"So? That's how Ironhide and I started out."

"You stalked him," Elita corrected, and flinched at the icy look her friend gave her. "But only kidding."

"So when exactly is this little bundle of joy going to be popping out?" Firestar interrupted, drawing the conversation back to its origins.

"Five deca-cycles," Elita replied, smiling very slightly.

"That's so soon," Chromia said, her optics widening. "Primus, girl, how long have you been keeping this from us?"

"Not long, not long…"

"What do we know about the little one?" Moonracer asked, cradling her chin in her palm. "Femme? Mech? Any ideas for names?"

"None so far," Elita admitted reluctantly. "I haven't got a clue…and of course Optimus is so delirious he can't tell left from right, let alone actually _think_."

"Primus forbid," Chromia snorted, rolling her optics. "Well, start seriously considering it. Otherwise, you'll reach the day of your sparking and won't know what to put into the kid's programming."

"Well, we wouldn't want that, would we? It'll be easier once we know the gender for sure…Ratchet can't seem to make up his mind."

"Yeah, well, tell the old mech to get a move on. We gotta know what this base is in for," Chromia said grimly.

* * *

_A name…_

Elita sighed and rolled over on the recharge berth. Sleep wasn't coming. She hadn't really expected it to…her processors would never allow it. Not at a time like this. She allowed her optics to fall closed…she needed rest…

"Elita? You're still up?"

She lifted her head and sighed heavily as her sparkmate settled onto the edge of the berth. "Against my own will. I'm too wound up."

"Over what?"

"The same thing as you."

"Oh."

They fell silent, both lost in their own turbulent thoughts. Elita rolled onto her back, glaring intently at the ceiling as if it withheld from her the answers she so craved. A small spasm rolled through her abdomen, and she gritted her teeth against the sharp pain.

Femmes were built differently than mechs. Anyone who had ever interfaced could have told you that much, but the variations went beyond the crotch plating. Ratchet often rambled on about every alteration between the two body mainframes, but at present, the only one on the couple's mind was the chamber located in the femme's abdomen. The insulated, protected chamber designed specifically to house a growing sparkling. The chamber, as well as the plates on her stomach, were made of the most malleable of metals, and layered, so they slid apart as the sparkling within grew.

Elita had never before paid attention to the dynamics of how it all worked, exactly; but, then again, a vorn ago, she had never even dreamt of bonding with another. The science behind the growth of a child seemed a lot more important now that that child was _hers_.

"Does it hurt?" Optimus asked abruptly, and she looked over at him. Seeing she was confused, he cleared his throat slightly and elaborated, "I mean, housing a sparkling. What does it feel like?"

"Well, it's not comfortable, per say, but it doesn't really…_hurt_ hurt. It's just…" she paused, struggling to find the words to describe it to her oblivious lover. "You can tell…something's going on in there that wasn't before. It's like a pressure…and it builds a little more each day. Occasionally, the spark will become turbulent, and then sure, it hurts, but other than that…" She broke off once more and shook her head. "I don't know. You'd have to experience it."

"Pass," he said, wincing. "Can I…do anything to help?"

"I don't think so. Unless you know how to speed the growth of a sparkling to the point where five deca-cycles of resting in the chamber isn't necessary."

"I wish I could," he said heavily. "I hate seeing you like this."

"Like what? I'm fine."

"The Pit you're fine. You're tense, you're tired, and…and half the time, no matter what you say, you look like you're hurting," Optimus said, his voice catching slightly at the thought of his beloved Elita in pain. Especially when there was nothing he could do to help her…

She sighed heavily and took her optics offline. "It's okay, love. It'll be over soon…and think of what we'll _have_, Optimus. A sparkling. _Ours_. A life only we can give."

He nodded slowly; she posed a good point. And the more he thought about it, the harder his spark pounded. _A sparkling_.

"Elita."

"Hm?"

"Tell me if this helps."

She stilled, curious to see what he had in mind. After a moment's pause, she felt his large hands come to rest upon her abdomen, and she shuddered slightly at his touch. Taking care not to apply too much pressure, Optimus worked his hands gently over her stomach, massaging her taut middle chassis. Her body stiffened at first, but as his warm palms eased over her abdomen, she relaxed with a small sigh. Taking satisfaction in her obvious comfort, he continued the gentle massage, easing her tight plates a bit further apart. He felt a warm pulse from deep within her body, and couldn't repress the smile that lifted his lips. His child. So close, so alive…

Optimus looked up, distracted; the turbulence in her spark had eased, the stress waves that had moments ago permeated their bond evaporating.

"Come here, love," she said quietly, her optics affectionate as she opened her arms to him. "Primus knows you're as tired as I am."

"I'm fine," he replied hurriedly. "Try to recharge. I'll watch over you for now."

"You come to me or I'm coming to you."

"I can't lose either way."

"Neither can I."

He eyed her almost suspiciously for a moment, and with a sigh she sat up, snaked her arms around his shoulders, and kissed him. His spark pulsed heavily within him, excited by the close proximity of its partner, as well as by the tiny life beneath his ever-gentle hands…hands that now lifted to pull his sparkmate into his chassis. His tongue lightly teased her lips, and at his prodding her mouth opened up to him. She had just begun to enjoy a small spark of triumph when he abruptly pulled away.

"Is this okay?"

"The door's locked."

"No, no, I mean…" he rolled his optics. "Oh, wait. Ha ha. You're hilarious. I mean, is interface okay?"

"No one ever said it was a crime."

"You're dancing off subject, love."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said flatly, scowling at him.

"Will…will interfacing upset the sparking process at all?" he asked nervously, rubbing her abdomen lightly.

Elita stared at him for a moment, her mouth open slightly. He was just beginning to wonder if she'd even heard him when she abruptly began to laugh. The sound presented a wonderful shock to his audio receptors, though he probably would have enjoyed it more if it weren't for the fact that she was presumably laughing at him.

"Good Primus, you are so _dense_," she giggled, drawing her mech close. "I don't think the sparkling really cares what we do, Optimus. Now come here. Interfacing isn't much fun with a sparkling in the berth, so I suggest we make the best of the temporary lack of flailing limbs."

He blinked, then smirked very slightly. "You naughty thing, you."

"Naughty or not, a femme knows what she wants. So _come here_, you stupid femme magnet."

* * *

**Three deca-cycles later…**

"I am going to die."

"Dramatic much?"

"I am being serious here. _I am going to die_."

"Can I have Optimus when you're gone?"

"Don't you have something better to do? Like pulling Ironhide out of the waste containers?"

"Ooh, harsh, Lita," Chromia laughed, busying herself with stacking the data chips she was supposed to be zipping into the mainframe. "Don't you have to go rescue Optimus from out of an airlock?"

"Touché," Elita One grunted, glaring miserably at the surface of her desk. "Did I mention that I am going to die?"

"It gets worse before it gets better, babe, I promise," Chromia said gently, and Elita whimpered. "Hey, enjoy it while you can. Sparklings don't sit still. Better relish the moments they're squirmy but can't go anywhere. Like the balcony. Or the roof. Or…no, I don't want to scare you."

"Catalyst was on the _roof_?" Elita said incredulously.The place brought back memories--it had been her and her mate's favorite place for love making in their younger days--but the mere thought of a sparkling toppling off the edge completely wiped away any sentimental value the place had.

"Incidentally, yes," Chromia replied, wincing very slightly. "Wheeljack found her--he was up there adjusting the satellite and found her peeking over the edge. Oh, Primus…okay, change of subject. How long?"

"Two deca-cycles," Elita grumbled. Far too long, in her personal opinion. Her bonded thought otherwise, seemingly under the impression that the date was coming up far too fast…he probably would have thought differently if _he_ was carrying the kid in his gut, Elita mused savagely. "Optimus is ecstatic, of course."

"Speaking of whom, where is the little slagger?"

"Recharging," Elita growled, her optics narrowing. He was getting _old_ if interface wore him out like this.

Chromia tisked. "Time to put the foot down, Lita. You're going to be sparking. In _two deca-cycles_. He should be taking your shift for you, for Primus's sake!"

"No," Elita said flatly, and her lieutenant sighed. "I'm going to spark. That much is true. However, I _don't_ need to be _pampered_. The cause comes first. It always comes first."

"And you're not doing the cause much good if you're hurting too much to spell your sparkmate's name right, hon," Chromia said gently, looking at the computer monitor, which contained a status report to the High Council. Elita growled and moved her hands to the keypad, hurriedly correcting the error. "Elita. Let Optimus take over for a while. You're dead on your feet."

"No," Elita replied firmly, shaking her head slightly, as if this could distract her from the increasing pain in her abdomen. "I'm fine."

Chromia frowned. She knew what _fine_ was. _Fine_ was not holding your middle with both arms and gritting your teeth against the discomfort of carrying a sparkling within you. Even a lugnut like Ironhide would have been able to differentiate…

"Elita, either you go or up there and tell him to move his aft so you can sleep, or I carry you up there and _do it for you_," Chromia growled.

The commander stared at her, optics wide. The lieutenant was serious. One hundred percent, Primus-sworn serious…

"Okay," Elita One managed weakly. "I'll go…"

* * *

She didn't have the spark to do it, Elita realized miserably. Optimus was still sprawled across their recharge berth, his optics shuttered, a low snore reverberating in his chest. He was exhausted. It was exhaust beyond exhaust. He was over-worked, battle-weary…

As was she, she reminded herself. _And _carrying a sparkling. But as she looked down at him, she could hardly bring herself to wake him. Instead, she sank onto the edge of the recharge berth, her optics wandering over his large frame. He was sleeping restlessly, his lips moving soundlessly as though crying silently out for someone. Elita reached out to her beloved and stroked his face, her thumb tracing a scar on his cheek that was normally hidden by his mask. He sighed very slightly and turned his face into her hand. She felt the turbulence in his spark ease at his lover's close proximity, and abruptly she wanted very much to crawl against his side and sleep forever with his strong, warm body…

She came very close to doing it, too. The loud blare of a siren interrupted her.

Optimus Prime jerked awake with a grunt, and she was on her feet immediately, reaching her comm link out to anyone willing, at that moment, to answer her demanding questions.

"Prowl!" Prime snapped somewhat groggily into his own link, and she scowled when the tactician seemingly responded immediately. _Thanks for being so quick to answer _me,_ Prowl,_ she thought spitefully. Optimus continued, "What the Pit is going on?"

"Decepticons…on the front gates…just outside…city…" Prowl puffed. "Losing fast…can't hold them off…Optimus…help…"

"I--_we'll_--be right there," Optimus said hurriedly, meeting his sparkmate's optics. "I mean--" he broke off, watching her expectantly. "Elita, should you really…?"

"I'm going," she said flatly, and her tone made it clear that there would be no arguing it.

In hindsight, Optimus Prime would look back and wish that just once--just that one time--he could have had the nerve, the spine, to argue with Elita. He'd look back on that bloody day and wish beyond his spark that he had just once said "No." That he had held her back by whatever means possible. She was going to spark in two deca-cycles, for Primus's sake! Yet he ignored it…that day, gazing into her blazing optics, he merely nodded and said "Follow me."

* * *

The Decepticons had broken into the city by the time the slightly panicked commanders arrived. Bots streamed back and forth, some running, some chasing, some shooting, some cowering and crying. Recruits. Figures.

Elita reached out to Optimus through their bond for the briefest moments, taking hold of his spark with her own and pulsing through her own reassurance. _It would be okay. They'd come out of this alive. They'd be together. Just remember…two deca-cycles._

_Two deca-cycles, my love._

And then she was gone, off into the haze of the battle. Optimus was hot on her heels, his optics narrowing against the debris. He'd had every intention of treating this as a minor scuffle, not as a full scale ambush--but the scene that met his optics changed his mind for him.

There were hundreds. _Hundreds_. Hundreds of mechs, all proudly bearing the Decepticon crest upon their chest plates. A suddenly pitiful two hundred or so Autobots stood amidst them, separated from their comrades, separated from their bondeds and lovers. Not one that Optimus could see showed any sign of giving up despite fate's cruel circumstances, and pride swelled up through the despair that had immediately crushed his spark. There was hope. Not much, and they all knew it, but there was a flicker.

There was a chance.

Contrary to Optimus's misgivings, Ironhide and Chromia were very much enjoying themselves. They fought side by side, cannons roaring, their vocalizers roaring, the Decepticons around them roaring--in pain. Heads rolled, to be shortly followed by arms, legs, and, in some special cases, interface appliances. Not they'd be needing them where they were going, Chromia thought smugly. She ripped another off anyway.

Ironhide was beside himself. He lost all reason when he fought, all rationality--there was energon to be spilled and he sure as Pit was going to spill it. He was a monster and nothing short of it. His cannons humming in between ruthless firing, he sank pulse blast after pulse blast into every Decepticon within a breath of him…shooting…ducking…hitting, hitting, tearing…

Chromia watched her beloved somewhat fearfully. She'd always admired, even respected, Ironhide for his unparalleled abilities in battle--but she'd fallen in love with an Ironhide who was a bit less…barbaric. She, too, enjoyed the fight; she loved feeling the energon pumping through her circuits, making her vents heave with exertion, making her frame turn numb as the pain faded into nothingness.

Chromia loved to fight.

But she didn't enjoy _killing_.

Ironhide couldn't say the same.

He had loved to fight long before he had joined the military. He had been a street mech, a gangster in human terms--the scum of Pit. He was well known on the streets of Iacon…and feared. He spent most of his days recharging away, recovering from rather extreme cases of over-energization…and his nights in the back alleys, making himself infamous.

That had changed, of course. His path had been swayed.

The night he met _him…_

That precious youngling…

* * *

_It was dark. Ironhide figured it usually was at night. Because that was what you called it when it got all black like this…_

_Okay. _

_Waaaaay too much high grade…_

_Ironhide paused in his rather drunken amblings and glared around blearily. He'd stumbled onto a seemingly deserted alleyway…and not one he was familiar with. Swearing under his breath, he turned on his heel, but a sharp cry of pain behind him caused him to freeze in his tracks._

_Primus._

_That cry._

_It was too high for a full grown mech._

_Too low for a femme._

_He turned slowly, dimming his optics as he narrowed them in the direction of the alley behind him. Even in the darkness, he could make out the faint shape of five mechs--big ones. Ironhide wasn't tall--he was wide, he was slaggin' strong, but he wasn't tall. Leaning forward slightly, the trouble making mech caught sight of a very small shape in between the behemoths. No way. Too small to be even a minibot…_

_He ducked carefully into the shadows, edging closer to the crime that seemed to be unfolding. His optics widened as he drew closer…no fragging way…_

A youngling.

_He was small. Really, really small. Holy frag, how did something that size even hold a spark? Said youngling was crouched low to the ground, his incredibly blue optics blinking weakly up at his--were those slaggers actually attacking a kid? Ironhide's rage flared. He wasn't the most respectable of mechs anymore, but even he had his qualms about hurting the defenseless. _

"_Just tell us what we wanna know, runt," one of the large mechs growled threateningly, shoving at the youngling with a foot. The tiny bot refused to cry out; Ironhide, even in the gloom, could see his jaw clenching. The youngling won his respect almost immediately--he was a tough little guy._

"_What are you, mute?" another demanded, reaching down and seizing the brave little bot by the helm. He jerked his captive's head back, glaring down into the young one's face. "Speak up, ya little drone!"_

_The youngling said nothing. Ironhide winced as a very metallic crash echoed throughout the alleyway--the child had been kicked. Viciously. A small trickle of energon upon the ground caught the dying rays of the moon. _

"_Enough," Ironhide whispered, his voice invisible in the night. _

_The foot reared back again…_

"_ENOUGH!" Ironhide roared, finding his vocalizer again. He leapt to his feet, his frame bristling, his stolen artillery cannon humming in his hand, having been pulled from sub space. "Ya back off, ya spahkless slaggahs!"_

_Five heads snapped up to look at him; the sixth--the youngling's--was a little slow in lifting. _

"_Hey--lookit that, Blackout," one of the mechs sniggered. "Daddy comin' to rescue his little boy?"_

"_Shut up, Demolisher."_

"_What?"_

"_He's not mahn," Ironhide grunted. "But Ah don' think ya got any business beatin' up ah helpless kid."_

"_He ain't helpless," the mech called Demolisher sniggered. "He's got battle armor down there somewhere."_

"_He ain't got th' strength ta kick ya back, tho', does 'e?" Ironhide growled. "Step away from 'im. Ya won' get hurt."_

"_You know who you're talkin' to?" another mech snapped, laughing as he steppe forward. "Come on. Ya wanna save him? Come here, Daddy."_

_Ironhide lifted one optic ridge._

_He came._

_It didn't even take half a breem. Each and every attacker was shot, bitten, hit, ripped at, before they could even fully register what exactly was happening. The black mech before them was a monster--not even that big, but colossal in spark. The youngling dragged himself to the shadows, knowing full well that he was forgotten. Energon leaked from the deep tear in his cheek; he wiped the liquid away absently, but winced when his fingers grazed the wound. Would it scar?_

_His worried musing was interrupted by the slow approach of heavy footsteps. Looking up, he saw the monolith that came his way, absently dropping the body of an attacker to the ground._

"_Sorry ya had ta see tha'," he grunted, kneeling down before the youngling._

"_I've seen worse," the minibot managed quietly. _

"_Wha' were ya doin' ou' here bah yerself?" Ironhide asked quizzically, reaching forward to wipe the energon from the youngling's face. "Yer too young."_

"_I got separated," the little one whispered, his voice shaking slightly. "I just…I turned around…and…"_

"_Shh. Ah know wha' it's like. What's yer name? Who're yer guardians?"_

"…_Optimus. I'm…Optimus. My friends--"_

"OPTIMUS!"

_Ironhide was abruptly shoved aside as a mech of unheard of proportions flew seemingly out of nowhere, lifting the startled youngling into colossal arms. "Thank Primus! Thank Primus on high, I was so worried! Don't you ever, ever, EVER do that to me again, understand?"_

"_Sorry…" the youngling mumbled into the mech's large chassis._

_Ironhide sat on his aft, dumbfounded, as two more mechs--both smaller, thankfully--rounded the corner, puffing their way into the alleyway. A third followed at a much slower pace, cooing at a youngling in his arms, who was obviously under the impression that he was too old to be cooed at._

"_Optimus," a small, sleek silver mech panted, reaching towards the youngling with trembling fingers. "I am so, so, sor--"_

"_Shut up," the largest of them snapped, getting to his feet and holding Optimus away. "You have no right, Jazz, no right! You were supposed to be watching him! You were supposed to hold onto his hand and not let go! Would it have been so hard to do that?"_

"_Sentinel, look, I--"_

"_Give him to me," a yellow mech said flatly, extending his arms for the youngling. "He's hurt."_

"_Sorry, Ratchet, sorry," Sentinel replied condescendingly, handing Optimus over to the medic. "He's leaking pretty hard…it won't scar, will it?"_

"_He won't complain if it does," Ratchet replied, promptly sitting down on the ground so as best to examine his thankfully compliant patient. "The femmes dig scars, Optimus."_

"_Really?"_

"_Duh, stupid, everyone knows that," the other youngling said loudly from his perch in his guardian's arms, which earned him a stern shushing. "I'm just saying. Put me down, Magnus."_

"_Is there a please in there?"_

_The youngling rolled his optics. "_Please_ put me down."_

_Magnus chuckled and allowed his charge to alight upon the ground. The youngling stretched theatrically, saying something about his joints getting cramped, when he chanced a look to his right. His optics widened at the sight of Ironhide, and they opened even more so when he took in the heap of bodies on the ground._

"_Whoa," he whispered, grinning slightly. "Who did _their_ afts?"_

"_Megatron!" Magnus yelped, startled. "You're lucky I don't rip out your vocalizer for words like that!"_

"_Why? Jazz says it all the time," Megatron said imploringly, ignoring Jazz's don't-do-it gestures. Sentinel and Ratchet glared poisonously at the saboteur, and his already small frame deflated slightly. His paycheck was going to hurt for that one._

_However, Megatron's observation brought Ironhide notice from the large mechs. Sentinel looked down at him darkly and demanded, "Did you attack him?"_

"_He saved me," Optimus piped up, wincing as Ratchet rubbed gauze over his wound, leaking cleansers into the open, leaking energon lines. _

_Sentinel immediately relaxed at his youngling's word, extending a hand to the miscreant on the ground. "Then you have my eternal gratitude. Thank you."_

"_Sure," Ironhide grunted awkwardly, nodding in Optimus's direction. "Ah…um, take care, kid. Ah gotta go…over-energized…"_

_Ratchet made a face, clearly disliking the fact that a very drunken mech had been in such close contact with the precious youngling, but Sentinel took a step towards the departing Ironhide and placed a hand on his shoulder._

"_Wait," the leader said quickly, indicating the mass of bodies on the ground. "You took them all on yourself?"_

_Ironhide paused, then nodded awkwardly, and Sentinel beamed._

"_Designation?"_

"…_Ironhahde."_

"_Well, Ironhide"--it was a sign of how perceptive Sentinel truly was that he read the correct pronunciation beneath the accent-- "I don't suppose you've ever considered a career in the military?"_

* * *

The battle raged, a cloud of flying body parts and spilled energon. The movement of finger on trigger became almost first instinct as the Decepticons crowded him. Ironhide fell to his knees, panting, exhausted, only to be dragged back up by his persistent sparkmate.

"Keep going," she gasped into his audio receptor, holding him close briefly. "Hold on. Just a little longer."

"Tired…" he mumbled dizzily. He was leaking from his shoulder…he hadn't noticed that before…

"I know, I know," she soothed, pulling away slightly to free her cannon arm. "Hang in there."

The air was hot, smothering. To those who had been present on the ALIAH a vorn ago, it was just like being back a mile above Primus's spark. Optimus blinked blearily, numb to the pain that the circuits in his right thigh had detected. Had he been shot? He spun his blade into the belly of an approaching Decepticon, only distantly feeling the pulse blast that struck his back. His systems whined in exhaust, his joints groaned as he crouched to slash open the energon line behind an enemy's knees. The Decepticon went down, it's awful, mechanical shrieking drowned out by the sound of gunfire. Optimus swayed dizzily, struggling to clear the debris from his optics. In the heat of the battle, he had only one thought on his processor--his sparkmate. She was going to spark in two deca-cycles…he had to get her to safety…

A Decepticon that had been daring enough to try and sneak up on the weary commander screamed as its arms were abruptly torn free of its body. Optimus turned to see his Elita--covered in energon, panting, face twisted with rage, but very much alive. He reached out to her momentarily, touching her outstretched fingers. Her optics softened as they met his, the smallest of smiles graced her lips. A spark of excitement passed through their bond; she was urging him on, giving him strength. His energon pulsing with her eagerness, he nodded briefly and sub spaced his blade, reverting to his personal firearm. More destructive. And the more damage he could do, the faster this battle would be _over_.

Optimus felt him before he saw him--that dark, devouring aura was a bit hard to miss. Both commanders turned as though in a daze, optics widening at the sight of the cruel Decepticon leader. A smirk lifted the corner of his mouth, he raised his fusion cannon--Optimus roared, he sprung--_the finger pulled the trigger_--brother attacked brother--

Optimus clamped one hand over his sibling's face, his fingers digging into the hard faceplates he'd already scarred once. Megatron threw his weapon aside, a wide smile on his face, his blood red optics alight with triumph.

"I'm not the one you ought to be concerned with," he breathed, and in mere klicks it dawned upon the hate-filled Autobot leader. He released his hold on the large mech beneath him, springing to his feet in a blind panic. His breath caught in his vents at the pool of energon only feet away from them--

And his sparkmate upon the ground.

Dying.

. T R A N S M I S S I O N . S C R A M B L E D .

PLEASE VALIDIFY INFORMATION

. T R A N S M I S S I O N . T E R M I N A T E D .

PLEASE REBOOT LIFE SYSTEMS

…


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter Twenty Three**

_Plenoptic_

**It is now eleven twenty one a. m . I am exhausted. I have been studying. I have been practicing for a ballet. I want to go to bed. **

**But it just occurred to me that Elita is dying.**

**So I guess my pillow will remained cold…**

**Thanks for all of your reviews! Wonder if we can hit two hundred and fifty before this fic ends? By the way, used the term "bloody"--simply because it's late and I can think of no substitute. No comments regarding this, please.**

**NOTE OF SERIOUS IMPORTANCE: I HAVE A NEW POLL. IT IS VITAL TO THE PUBLICATION OF MY NEXT MAJOR FIC. IT IS A DECIDING POINT FOR ME. PLEASE VISIT MY PROFILE AND VOTE. IF YOU FAIL TO COMPLY, I WILL EAT YOUR HEAD. BTW, IT IS NOT ONE REGARDING A NEW PAIRING. IT REGARDS WHETHER OR NOT THERE WILL BE A SEQUEL TO THIS FIC!**

. T R A N S M I S S I O N . F A I L I N G .

PLEASE RESUME ENERGON PUMP FUNCTION

. F A I L U R E . T O . C O M P L Y . S Y S T E M . R E Q U E S T .

LIFE SUPPORT SYSTEM STATUS: OFF LINE

Ratchet turned, his audio receptors stinging with the scream. Judging by the sound of the weakened decibels, its source was far away--but someone was hurting. Someone was in pure agony. The cry began slow, horrified, numb--but within moments it had escalated into an anguished wail of such pain…like someone's spark was being ripped out.

And then, before he'd had a moment to fit the voice to a face, one screamed word did the job for him.

"**EEEEEELIIIIIIIIITAAAAAA!"**

Cold dread settled its icy fingers into Ratchet's spark. His systems froze before his processor reminded his vents to take in air.

No.

Nonono…

"By Primus, don't let it be true," Ratchet whispered. He felt numb. He felt shocked. He felt like he should be crying. He wasn't. He couldn't feel the grief he knew was supposed to be there. That tortured scream of sorrow was Optimus's. The medic bit down hard upon his own lip. He'd never heard anyone shriek like that. Ever. And he'd heard some fairly loud shrieks.

But then, he'd never heard anyone lose a sparkmate.

* * *

_Pain beyond pain. Agony beyond agony. His spark was being ripped in half. He was screaming because the pain had no where else to go, no second warm mind to comfort him. It was the loss of that warmth that brought forth the scream, nurtured it, gave it life. He was lost, suddenly alone--more alone than he'd ever been in his life. His young spark was collapsing in upon itself, drowning itself, drowning every rational thought and feeling that dared wander across his processor at that moment. _

_Without his knowing, the pain turned to rage--arguably the more dominant emotion. And that rage had only one outlet. _

_The mech who'd pulled the fragging trigger._

_The mech who had started it all._

_All of it._

_This war._

_He was sick of it. Sick and tired of it. Sick and tired of Ironhide and Prowl clasping his shoulders, slapping his back before a battle, all three of them knowing slagging well that they may never meet again. He was sick and tired of trudging into his recharge berth in the early hours of the morning, knowing full slagging well that he would have to be up in a few breems anyway. _

_He'd been hoping--ever since meeting __**her**__--that things would get better. That he'd have someone to lean on. Someone to turn to when the awful reality of it all became far too much. Someone to hold and kiss and love and touch…_

_That simple need had evolved into a raging desire for __**her**__. It was there, everywhere, beating through his energon lines when he held __**her **__on his berth, when his lips crashed upon __**hers**__, when __**her **__lithe, beautiful body moved beneath him, when delicate whimpers escaped __**her **__vocalizers as their sparks met…_

_It was so much more, he reflected longingly, his blade biting deep into his own brother as his rage found its outlet. It was so much more than wanting someone to recharge with._

_So very much more._

_He wanted __**her**__. He loved __**her. **__As the war dragged on, __**she **__became the only thing that was real to him, the only person he felt he could trust. Slag passion, slag lust, slag interface if it made __**her **__happier._

_Elita…_

The second cry wasn't as hysteric. When compared to the decibels of his first outburst, the following wail was really more of a grief-stricken whimper. His spark throbbed and ebbed, torn apart as his bonded lay dying near by. Megatron was long gone. He was _gone_. He had quickly realized his mistake in dealing with Elita One personally--his brother's rage would have been better exposed to a Decepticon that was more…expendable.

Telling himself firmly that it was survival tactics rather than cowardice, Megatron ran.

Optimus Prime watched the jet go. He felt no sorrow. He'd put a few dents into Megatron that wouldn't ever be repaired. He'd intende to rip the disgusting mech's spark out himself--

But he'd had far enough of spark ripping for one lifetime.

His processor no longer guiding his actions, he turned on his heel and made his way to his beloved's side. Elita One suddenly seemed so fragile beneath his hands as he rolled her over and lifted her into his arms. Her head lolled against his shoulder, her fingers clutching weakly at her leaking, bloody abdomen. Her lips moved, her voice failing her as she struggled to whisper his name--just once more…just taste his noble designation on her lips once more…

Just once was all she was asking…

"Optimus," she choked out, and his spark shrieked in agony.

"Hush, Elita," he whispered, stroking her beautiful faceplates. "You don't need to speak."

She shook her head feebly, lifting a hand to grasp weakly at his chest plates. He caught her small hand in his own and held it to his chest, directly over his spark. He leaned closer, bringing their foreheads together. It mattered not that a battle raged around them--the only thing he wanted in the universe, at that moment, was to listen to her voice.

"I love you," she gasped, whispering into his audio receptors. "From the moment…I saw you…in that recruit office…you were…my reason…my life…my light…"

"I am forever your light," he murmured, reaching up to tear away his mask. Not because he was expecting to find his tongue in her mouth, but because he couldn't bear the thought of her dying with anything but his face--his real face--in front of her optics. "I am forever yours. And I shall forever love you."

"Don't…hold back…" she mumbled, her optics flickering as she struggled to remain online. "Don't…hide…my Optimus…learn to love again…don't let this…be the end…"

He moaned as he struggled to contain the bastion of emotion within him. How could this possibly _not_ be the end? His Elita was dying in his arms--and with her, their sparkling. How was he supposed to heal his shattered spark? How was he supposed to give only half of his existence to another? No, only to her…

And, on impulse, he wrenched both of their chest plates apart and pressed his spark to hers.

Up until that point, that simple, passionate action was the most brilliant thing he had ever done.

His spark melded with her tiny flicker, enveloping it, digging into it, holding it in place. Elita was too far gone to feel the lustful emotion it should have instilled within her--instead, in her dying state, she felt only the mech, the beautiful existence that was her Optimus Prime. Hers, and hers alone.

They both recognized, the instant it began to occur, the feeling of being whole--the wonderful sensation of having another's existence entertwined with their own. Optimus inhaled deeply, having completely forgotten that this was their last joining--feeling and thinking only of the femme he loved, the femme he'd had every intention of spending his next eternity with.

Underneath the symbolism of it all, unbeknownst to the lovers, the mechanics of the process were working their wonders. Neither of them could have possibly felt her systems rebooting, his spark supporting hers. Neither of them even considered the still-mysterious powers of the Matrix of Leadership--abilities that were now speeding her healing systems, speeding the reboot of her life sustainers.

What Optimus _did_ feel was that the energon flow from her wound had eased. Looking down through tears he could still not release, the air intake to his vents froze with shock--_she was healing_. He held her closer, reminding himself to breathe, hoping against hope that contact with his spark was setting the process in motion. Their bond was swelling, as if her spark were awakening again, once more drawing power from his. He shuddered as its power fluctuated. Her spark drank heavily from his own, refueling itself, igniting once more its fire.

As life returned to her--painfully slowly--neither of them took a moment to notice that the battle was drawing to its close, or that Ironhide and Chromia were standing sentry not ten feet from them, shielding them from Decepticon attacks.

"Ratchet, getcher aft here a'ready!" Ironhide growled into his comm link. "Elita's not lookin' righ'!"

"What's Optimus doing?"

"He's, uh, bondin' with 'er…"

"Good."

"Huh?"

"Don't ask. It's a good thing."

"Sure, sure…jus' get here, okay?"

"Will do."

"Hide, they're pulling back," Chromia noted, glancing over at her bonded. Optimus twitched slightly, but made no other reaction to the relative good news.

"Keep yer guard up," Ironhide said stiffly, shooting a warning shot at a fleeing Decepticon's feet as it attempted to come too close to their injured commanders. "Optimus, Elita! Ya both still with us?"

Neither responded, but when Ironhide turned it was to meet Optimus's tired blue optics. The leakage of energon from Elita's wound had lessened, now a trickle upon the ground, and her vents seemed to be functioning properly.

"I don't know how…" he trailed off, shaking his head, and relief crossed his half hidden face. "I thought…but…she's alive, Ironhide."

"Thank Primus," the weapons specialist breathed, smiling very slightly as the femme stirred. "Keep ah good grip on 'er, Optimus, an' we'll get ya both outta here."

"Right."

The joints in his legs aching, Optimus settled onto his aft, allowing Elita to rest on one curled leg while his other bent in front of them, shielding her behind his knee. Chromia backed closer to them, her optics warily watching each retreating Decepticon. Wounded Autobots waved guns threateningly in their ememies' direction, but none had the strength to give chase.

"Looks like Ratchet has his work cut out for him," Optimus said darkly.

"Yea," Ironhide agreed gruffly, glancing over at the pair upon the ground. "Optimus…where's she hurt?"

Optimus hesitated for the slightest of moments, then cautiously pulled his hand from her abdomen. Ironhide's breath caught in his vents--

The sparkling.

"Ratchet, hurry," he snarled into his comm link. "Getcher aft ovah here! We've got Elita stable, but we're gonna lose ah spahkling if ya don' move it!"

"I'm here, I'm here," Ratchet snapped back, and true to his word he launched out from behind a dilapidated building nearby. "Primus almighty, _Elita_," he moaned, dropping to Optimus's side and lifting the femme cautiously in his arms. "Alright, alright. Optimus, you do what you need to do to help the troops. Don't you dare forget your duty here. Ironhide, call Red Alert, Hoist, and Perceptor, I'll be needing a hand getting her to the med bay. Lucky thing they attacked on base, really…"

"My sparkling," Optimus pressed in a whisper, his fists clenching upon the ground. "Ratchet…"

"Working on it," Ratchet rumbled, adjusting his comm link. "My scans have confirmed that its body is useless--it's been disabled in its core membrane censor units--but its spark is still alive…barely. I have an idea…"

"Anything," Optimus begged softly, reaching out to touch his lover's midsection. Indeed, he could feel a faint flicker of life beneath her armor. Slag it all to Pit…he should have made her stay behind…!

Elita lifted open one optic and turned to gaze at him before managing to bring both online, and with them, her consciousness. "Optimus," she breathed, reaching out to him, and he clasped her small hand tightly in his.

"Shh. It's okay, love," he soothed softly, opening his arms. Ratchet grudgingly returned his patient to her sparkmate. "Don't move."

"I'm fine," she grunted, squirming to get away from him, but a fiery look from the Hatchet stilled her.

"Rest," he growled dangerously, and much to Optimus's delight she complied, snuggling close against his chassis.

"Jetfire!" Ratchet suddenly gasped into his comm link, looking relieved. "Thank Primus I reached you. Listen carefully, alright? Please, _please_ tell me you still have the armored shells…"

. E N D . T R A N S M I S S I O N .

**Remember the shells Jetfire made back in the first few chapters? You know, the ones the Twins were fighting over? See, nothing in this fic goes without meaning…Oh yeah, sorry about the shortness of this chapter. I'm having major writers' block here...**

**And now---**

**THE SEARCH FOR ALPHA TRION!**

**A PARODY!**

**PART…I HAVE NO IDEA.**

**WAIT…WHERE DID I LEAVE OFF?!**

**OH YEAH…I THINK TRION IS TRYING TO FIX ELITA…**

**Trion///! **

**Optimus: Noooooooooo!**

**Trion: Shut up, moron, she's not dead!**

**Optimus: Oh. Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!**

**Trion: (throws wrench at him) I can't find anything wrong with her. She's in perfect health. That'll be five grand, bud.**

**Jazz: CUT! Wrong line, Trion! You don't use that until you're fixing a dying Thunderblast and Starscream is a sobbing mess on the floor!**

**Starscream: WTF?!**

**Jazz: And you, flyboy! Get back to your ///ing scene!**

**Starscream: OMG, TISNF! BS!**

**Jazz: You're BS, now get outta here! Okay, Trion, work with me here! Only interface with Optimus can save Elita now…wait, did I read that right?**

**Optimus: SWEET! (Jumps on Elita)**

**Elita: Ah! Ah! Whoa!**

**Jazz: No, wait! Not THAT kind of interface!**

**Optimus: Damn. (Climbs off of her)**

**Jazz: I think it's, uh, interface with her power systems…**

**Optimus:….How the /// do I do that?**

**Trion: (jabs Elita's stomach) POKE!**

**Elita: Ouch! (little panel pops open) Hey, lookit that.**

**Jazz: Okay, roll line, Trion!**

**Trion: Optimus, only her interface with you can save Elita One's life… cuz you're systems or compatible or some /// like that.**

**Optimus: Okey dokey then.**

**Jazz: **_**Only my creator would know that…!**_

**Optimus: Oh yeah…Alpha Trion, only my creator would know something like that.**

**Trion: Luke--**

**Jazz: OPTIMUS!**

**Trion: (huff) Optimus---I am your father!**

**Optimus: Noooooooooooooooooo!**

**Jazz: OMG, cut!**

**(Elita One dies)**

**The End.**

**Not!**

**Site of Battle**

**(Autobots and Decepticons are standing in middle of big open field)**

**Ironhide:…Soooooo….do we, like, have a scene or something?**

**Starscream: No idea. Hey, can the femme fly?**

**Chromia: I dunno. Never took the time to find out.**

**Starscream: Well, let's see. (Throws Chromia off of cliff)**

**Ironhide:………..No! She has my Starbucks coupon! (Jumps after her)**

**(Both miss handhold as the props crew forgot to install it)**

**(Both plummet to their deaths)**

**(Optimus rolls up)**

**Optimus: S'up, homies?**

**Starscream: Where's Elita One?**

**Optimus: She, uh….died.**

**Starscream: Oh. Srry, man.**

**Optimus: No, it's…okay. (Takes deep breaths)**

**At end of Episode**

**(Optimus is standing with cardboard cut out of Elita One)**

**Optimus: Both of our duties are too important to be missed…so I gotta go now.**

**(Runs over and crouches behind cut out. High pitched voice) Good bye, Optimus Prime! Don't be gone long!**

**(Optimus runs over and gets back on the big fancy spacecraft.)**

**(It flies away)**

**(Long pause)**

**Cardboard cut out of Elita One: (falls over)**

**THE END!**


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter McBlankBlank!**

_Plenoptic_

**I have no idea what chapter this is. Twenty four? I think so…**

**-.-**

**I have a very bad feeling about this chapter. It is eight thirty--nine--and this is possibly the most science-oriented chapter so far. It includes Wheeljack, Ratchet, Red Alert, and Jetfire in the med bay all at once. This is so unfair. This just makes me want to cry…why are all my characters so cruel to me?!**

**Optimus will die for this.**

**Of course my mind makes no sense. (And I'm not really going to kill Optimus).**

**One of my best friends is moving the day right after Christmas--going down to good ol' Texas to see her dad--and I'm in an understandably depressed SLUMP. My friend Ryo and I slouched all over the field today at break…we're both that miserable. And as soon as Sai comes back from her trip, she can be miserable with us…we'll miss you now and forever, Bee. Luckily, you're coming back in six months:D But it'll be the longest six months of my (NUMBER WITHHELD)-year-old life.**

**Anyway, enough of my problems--I'll be sure to write a oneshot just for her featuring Bumblebee!!!!!!!!! **

**Please enjoy, please review, as always, in that order. Oh yeah, one more thing--my apologies to those of you who wanted to see an OC for Optimus and Elita's sparkling…I couldn't resist a request made by a fan a loooooong time ago. ****J**** You know who you are (hopefully). To those of you who wanted an OC sparkling for Opt, visit my poll, vote "Yessir", and I may be nice enough to give you one in the possible sequel…:D **

**Oh yeah, guess what?! I'M USING GLOSSA THIS TIME!!!!!!!!!!!! Eh heh…with its usage, one scene in this chappie is almost M rated…(blush) But oh so much fun to write.**

. B E G I N . T R A N S M I S S I O N .

"Ow…slag, it hurts."

"Quit complaining," Chromia growled, staggering slightly under her sparkmate's weight as she struggled to get him to their shared quarters. She wished with all her spark that she could take him to the med bay--but at that moment, a very important operation was taking place.

She shivered slightly at the memories of the battle that had concluded only two or so breems ago--she remembered all too well Optimus Prime's agonized scream as his sparkmate lay dying. She wondered if there was any corner of the Autobot capital city that _hadn't_ heard.

Maybe those with two dysfunctional audio receptors, she mused.

As Chromia had already surmised, the med bay was at that moment a very, very busy place. Wheeljack and Jetfire were almost beside themselves with a combination of horror and terrified excitement--this experiment was untested, it didn't have any evidence behind it to back it up, prove that it could work…

It was Jetfire's dream come true. Granted, there was no logic in what was about to conspire, but like the scientist he was, he craved to see the results of such a radical procedure.

Ratchet and Red Alert were both leaning intently upon an operations berth, the CMO frowning deeply as he carefully pried apart the melted, warped armor that layered across Elita One's lower chassis. The femme was deep in stasis lock, thanks to a great number of confusing-looking wires and several syringes full of complicated drugs. Aside from the very weak presence that was still lodged temporarily in her body, she was aware only of the powerful spark so close to hers, beating in perfect pulsations.

Optimus Prime sat at the side of his sparkmate, one large hand clutched around one of hers. He lifted his other to shakily caress her face; Ratchet had insisted he go, but Optimus couldn't bear to leave her behind. Not like this. Not when she seemed so helpless, so beautifully vulnerable…

_Are you afraid? _He found himself wondering as he touched her gently. _Despite the barriers you have so stubbornly put up against it, has fear found its way into your spark? I don't want that for you, Elita, my love…please, let me in instead…now more than ever before._

"You need to leave," Ratchet said in a growl, shoving his leader aside as he circled around the operations berth, his optics never leaving the femme spread across its width.

"I--" Optimus began, but the CMO cut him off.

"Optimus, you are in my way! If I have lugs like you in my way, I cannot possibly perform an operation to my full capacity! And if I cannot perform this correctly, you are going to lose both your sparkmate and your son!"

"Look, Ratchet, I know--wait, _son_?"

"Get out of here!" Ratchet roared in frustration, wincing as his monitors beeped frantically, indicating Elita's suddenly erratic spark pulse. "And take a few deep breaths while you're at it, you're spending her spark into absolute--slag, no! Red Alert, get him out of here!"

"Optimus," Red Alert said gently, placing a hand on his stunned leader's shoulder. "I understand, okay? But we need room--well, he needs room, I'll probably get kicked out myself here in a moment."

"Son?" Optimus repeated numbly, his optics wide, and Red Alert chuckled.

"Congratulations. But you need to go. Now."

"Where?" the commander asked, suddenly feeling very stupid. Helpless. Just like a youngling. Where did he go when he was a youngling? When he needed help?

Oh yeah.

Without a word more--but a final glance at his unconscious Elita--he turned on his heel and strode out, sending a parting wave of love out to his sparkmate. She could feel it. This alone he was sure of.

He found himself in front of Ironhide's quarters. Well, it was Chromia's now, too, but that thought didn't occur to him until the door flew open and the femme had her arms wrapped around his chassis.

"Hey there, big guy," she murmured affectionately, hugging him hard. "Are you okay?"

"…I think so," Optimus said, after a moment's consideration. "I'm not really sure…"

"Come in," Chromia urged, taking his hand and dragging him into the large, spacious area. "Ironhide, sit up."

The drowsy weapons specialist lifted one bleary optic shutter and growled in the back of his throat. "Hey."

"You're hurt," Optimus said bluntly, taking note of the poor job Chromia had done winding mesh around Ironhide's injuries.

"Just waitin' on th' Hatchet," Ironhide replied, lifting his large frame from the recharge berth and yawning widely. "How's it goin' down there?" he added, remembering Elita's unstable condition.

"I think it's okay," the suddenly exhausted commander said, rubbing at his optics and mentally kicking his processor. Now wasn't the time to be nodding off. "I think Elita is, at any rate. But…Ironhide, I have a son!" he exploded suddenly, remembering Ratchet's near final words to him. "The sparkling--it's a mech."

Ironhide blinked, then erupted into jovial laughter. "Awrigh'! Tha's mah Elita! Looks like Catalyst will get 'erself ah spahkmate aftah all!"

Optimus smiled somewhat nervously, his momentary rush of emotion fading. Good Primus, his processor was having fun torturing him today. He hadn't experienced mood swings like this since younglinghood.

"I'm going to go and get Catalyst from the evacuation hold in the lower levels, okay?" Chromia said, looking over at her sparkmate. "Take care of him, Ironhide."

"Will do," Ironhide said formally, and she patted his cheek affectionately before turning and swiftly exiting the room.

Almost on impulse, Optimus wandered over to the far side of the room and bent close to the corner. There, situated at a height such that a rather short sparkling could reach it, was a small control pad containing an array of only ten numbers rather than the base's normal fifteen (an extra five were encrypted symbol keys). On instinct more than anything else, Prime easily withdrew the code from his banks and hammered it in--1394984--and the side of the wall released an audible hiss. Optimus stepped back, smiling behind his mask, as a full-sized recharge berth was extracted onto the floor after being revealed by a sliding panel in the wall.

"You didn't uninstall it," Optimus said, quietly delighted as he eased his aching body onto the berth. He smirked as his heels touched the end; it was about slagging time. As a sparkling, he'd often stretch his body as far as he could without actually breaking anything, and even then he could only reach across about a fourth of the berth.

Ironhide watched his commander, his face unusually gentle. The mech was full grown, but still so young…in times of stress, he still slightly resembled the youngling Ironhide had taken under his wing all those vorns ago, after the death of Sentinel Prime…he grimaced at the sharp pain in his spark. It still hurt to think about his deceased leader.

Chromia returned a breem later (the slagging security guards had actually wanted to run scans on her to ensure she was really Catalyst's mother rather than a Decepticon femme incognito; Springer, standing nearby, had told them all to go slag themselves, because Chromia was so_ obviously _Ironhide's sparkmate, and Catalyst was so _obviously _Ironhide's kid) to find two sleeping mechs in her quarters. The sparkling in her arms whined softly, and with a small smile Chromia lent her down at Optimus's side. Catalyst curled contentedly against the weary commander's warm chassis, her little faceplates scrunching in a soft yawn.

Optimus dreamt for the first time in a long time as he recharged with his guardian's sparkling at his side. He dreamt of Primus's voice, speaking in its clear, noble tones--it was the same voice he'd heard at the Corespark…

Then he distinctly heard his own voice edge its way in, eventually becoming a scream above Primus's, drowning out the words of the Creator. For awhile Optimus listened to himself babble--it didn't make any sense--and then, just as he felt consciousness beginning to return to his reluctant processor, Primus's voice rejoined his own:

"_An Autobot will rise from our ranks to light our darkest hour…but until that day…_

_Till all are one…"_

Optimus Prime jerked into consciousness, bringing a very protestant squawk from the sparkling at his side. He shushed her quickly as he sat up, trying to latch onto the last piece of his dream before it escaped his memory banks. He dwelt on it for at least a breem before deciding it made no sense whatsoever.

He frowned; for a moment, he could have sworn he'd remembered another tidbit from the strange dream. A name. Cried out to him from some unknown source, screamed at his spark. He furrowed his brow, but a mere klick later the odd premonition was gone, and he was left with only Primus's parting words.

With a groan he lifted his aching, wounded body from the berth, careful not to disturb Catalyst in her slumber. Squinting at the chronometer, he deemed that it was late enough to visit the med bay.

His spark jolted uncomfortably.

The med bay.

He hammered the release button on the door just a little too enthusiastically, and with more speed than a mech his size was supposed to have, bolted down the many hallways of Autobot Headquarters. In what felt like mere moments he'd come upon the med bay door. He knocked upon it more than was actually necessary--forgetting the fact that he was commander, and had entry to it without knocking, but seeing as it was Ratchet he was dealing with…

"Optimus," Red Alert said warmly, opening the sliding door with a smile. "Before you attack me with questions, let me fill you in. The operation was successful, we were able to extract the child's spark. Wheeljack and Jetfire are currently in the process of implanting it into a shell…you know, the little armored ones the twins used to fight over? Yeah, those."

"And--" Optimus broke in, but Red Alert continued, unabashed.

"Elita is fine. She's resting now, I believe--though the sparkling's body has been removed from hers, she is still wounded. I'll let you in--Ratchet is recharging in his office, poor thing--but do try to be quiet, won't you?"

"Of course," Optimus said feverishly, and the medic stepped back to allow his commander passage.

"Left wing," he whispered, patting Optimus's shoulder reassuringly. "I'm going to go join Jet and Wheeljack, in case they need my help. Alert me immediately via comm link if Elita's situation becomes in any way unstable."

"I will," Optimus promised, and the medic nodded and made his cheerful way to the science portion of the med bay.

Cautiously, quietly, Prime turned a quick corner and eased himself into the left wing of the recovery center. His spark eased at the sight of his recharging sparkmate. She was curled up on her side, mechano-cat like, and was mumbling distantly in her sleep. He was enormously relieved to see that all wires had been removed from her lithe frame; instead, overhead heat scanners monitored her vitals. He approached slowly, reaching out to his love through their bond. She stirred lightly and rolled over, unshuttering and squinting up at him through fuzzy optics. Smiling, he removed his mask and moved swiftly to her side, taking his femme into his arms and holding her close against his chest.

After a moment of confusion she registered the spark so close to hers as her bonded's, and with a contented sigh snuggled deeper into his warm embrace. "Optimus."

"I'm sorry I didn't stay with you," he whispered into her audio receptor, stroking her back. "I was banished."

She laughed quietly, tracing the scar in his side with one agile finger. "I understand. It's okay anyway--you were reaching out to me the whole night."

"I was?" he asked incredulously, frowning. All he remembered of last night's almost drunken recharge was his now vague dream.

"You were," she confirmed, tilting her head back to gaze adoringly up at his handsome face. She lifted herself slightly to lightly kiss his cheek, and a sudden thought occurred to her. "You kept sending me the word _Rodimus. _Does that mean anything to you?"

The previous run away word from his dream was abruptly caught and held, screaming, in place in his processor. "I dreamt that name," he said abruptly, his optics widening in understanding. "Listen, Elita…" he quickly regaled to her the details of his reverie, including Primus's last mighty words.

"Till all are one," she murmured, her brow furrowing. "What was the part before that? …To light our darkest hour? And then…"

"Rodimus," her lover confirmed, caressing her cheek thoughtfully. "I don't know what it means."

She bit her lip, frowning slightly, but then her expression brightened. "I like it. You said it was a name? I like it, Optimus, I really do. Ratchet told you, didn't he? Our sparkling--"

"Mech, yeah. He told me," Optimus replied, pulling his femme closer to him. "Primus almighty, Elita…it's unbelievable."

"What is?" she asked softly, smiling as he cuddled her against his chassis. She was in the mood for it.

"A sparkling," he whispered, kissing her helm gently as he eased her into his lap. "Ours, Elita. Yours and mine alone."

"Rodimus," she breathed, smiling against his cheek. They were silent for a long moment, his thumbs rubbing the sensitive nodes in her back, his optics faraway as they gazed out the med bay window. The sky had become eerily white; it looked mysterious enough, but both knew from their studies as younglings that the clouds were caused by debris and laser cannon radiation energy rising into Cybertron's thin atmosphere, causing a weak chemical reaction that created the ghostly fog. Both waited, staring expectantly at the sky, until the first few white flecks began to fall. The strange debris slash radiation stuff, frozen and gaining mass as it hit atmosphere.

The Cybertronian equivalent of snow.

As the land outside blurred, the small med bay room was bathed in white light, illuminating the quiet couple upon the berth. Wrapping his arms more tightly around her waist, Optimus bent to kiss the femme he loved, his lips grazing her cheek lightly. Elita sighed contentedly, leaning against him as he continued the onslaught of affectionate kisses. After a moment she willingly huddled against him, allowing him to press his lips against hers. She moaned into his mouth as his glossa wandered out to tickle her own. Hers withdrew, and he gave chase, deepening their kiss as passion found its way into their embrace. Her glossa moseyed out to lap his lightly, teasing, before retreating once more. He growled softly, pulling his lover against his chassis--their sparks cried out for one another--before abruptly flipping over, trapping her beneath him on the recharge berth.

"Optimus…" she moaned against his lips, but he silenced her with a second impassioned kiss.

"Later," he mumbled, drunk on her taste. One hand wandered down her side to clutch at her thigh, hitching her leg around his hip.

She shuddered as his naughty hands played against her breastplate, and she traced his lower lip lightly with her glossa, making him tremble slightly. "Interface later," she purred, her wicked appendage stealing into his mouth once more. "Kisses now…"

He groaned quietly, pouring a fraction of his lustful feelings into her through their sparkbond. She whimpered in response, her fingers clutching at his chest plates. He traced one hand down her side, touching the sensitive circuits in the hollow of her waist, and she cried out softly, her melodious voice stifled by his steady glossa. Primus, he'd never wanted her this badly…

"They're making love, Red Alert," Ratchet said tiredly from outside, rubbing his nasal ridge. "Her spark is pulsing that fast because he is undoubtedly employing every erotic technique Jazz and Ironhide ever implanted in his processor. Of course, I worry for him too…only Primus knows what Chromia's managed to teach our once-innocent Elita."

Ratchet paused and scowled; Red Alert had made transparent one small square of the plexiglass window and was eagerly watching the couple. "Ooh, kiss him again," the medic purred, grinning, before feeling the disapproving optics of his mentor upon his back. He straightened up quickly, sheepishly making solid once more the plexiglass. "Sorry, Ratchet. Couldn't resist."

"Hmph," Ratchet grunted, his optics narrowing. "How're they doing?" he asked, jerking a thumb in the general direction of the science lab.

"Go see for yourself," Red Alert replied, grinning slightly. "I'll stay here and make sure--"

"No, _you_ are going to go check on them, and _I _will stay here," Ratchet replied flatly, and Red Alert, defeated, slouched off.

After a moment's pause, Ratchet leaned over, made one square of plexiglass transparent. Peeking through, he whistled softly.

Slag, that femme was good.

* * *

The science lab was dark, save for the bright light cast by the small, frail spark the chief scientists were currently bent upon implanting into a tiny shell. 

"Slag," Jetfire groaned, pausing in their work to wipe perspiring energon from his helm. "Haven't we reached synchronization yet?"

"Almost," Wheeljack breathed, adjusting the heat settings in the casing over the shell. The spark flickered as if in thanks. It seemed to be having trouble adapting to its new home. "Come on, little one," the scientist murmured, easing the overall temperature up a few Kelvin. "Just a bit more…"

It happened all at once, in a blinding flash of light. The shell in the containment chamber jerked violently as the spark sank into its open chest plates, the small core of energy almost purring. Bright tendrils of sheer energy ran fast over the shell's armor, registering its appearance. Within the shell, similar tendrils raced through its circuits, adding Optimus and Elita's genetically programmed details, warping the look of the shell and adjusting it according to the small spark's parents' appearance.

Wheeljack and Jetfire could only back away and stare in wonder as the shell they had so carefully constructed mutated and transformed--prematurely, even for their race. The shell's chest plates abruptly snapped closed, shielding its spark from view. The shell relaxed momentarily, its body resting lightly upon the padded berth.

"Did it work?" Wheeljack whispered frantically, approaching the containment chamber.

Jetfire was about to answer when a sound met their audio receptors. It was an unusually welcomed sound, one they hadn't heard since Bumblebee's sparklinghood--

A wail.

"Oh, dear spawn of Primus," Wheeljack whispered, hurriedly hitting the releases on the chamber and lifting out the suddenly squirming mass of metals. "Jetfire, chisel. We need to get the armor off."

"Uh, what?"

"We need to remove the armor!" Wheeljack yelled over the newborn's weak wails. "Shh, little one…the poor thing can't move with all of that slag on!"

"Right," Jetfire said, nodding quickly in understanding, and went to fetch the chisel.

It took all of a half breem to remove the unnecessary battle armor from the sparkling's chassis and wrap the child securely within a layer of thermal blankets. Its cries had reduced to frail warbles, its blue optics gazing tearfully up at them from Wheeljack's arms as the ecstatic scientists hurried from their lab, making a beeline for the left recovery wing.

They nearly collided with Red Alert along the way, and the poor medic had to take a few hurried steps to the side.

"It worked?" he shouted, confused, but they paid him no heed.

Ratchet turned and, upon seeing the frantic scientists rushing in his direction, abruptly switched on his comm link to his commander's frequency. He inhaled.

"OPTIMUS! DISCONNECT YOURSELF FROM YOUR SLAGGING SPARKMATE AND GET YOUR ROYAL AFT OUT HERE!"

"Ow! Ratchet?!" There was an audible thud from the wing, and Ratchet smirked; his protégé had fallen off the berth. "What's going on? Why do I need to come out?" He sounded slightly whiny.

"You can give up one overload, you lecherous brat," Ratchet growled, smiling as a breathless Wheeljack hurried up to him, a grin twisting his faceplates as he proudly displayed his whimpering cargo. "You have a son."

* * *

He was so incredibly small. 

Optimus Prime ran the backs of his fingers across his child's faceplates, wondering how something so pathetically tiny could even survive. Ratchet and Red Alert stood in the corner, for once speechless as they watched a miniscule family unite. Wheeljack and Jetfire hovered nearby, bouncing on the balls of their heels, ready to burst with pride and excitement. The child of Prime. And it was all because of them. Trembling with ego, Jetfire lifted one hand, flat palmed, and Wheeljack slapped it with his own. High slagging five.

The sparkling's cries had been reduced to soft whimpers as he was rocked against his father's chest, content to feel the large, warm spark so close by. Elita was speechless, wordlessly watching her bonded cradle their son.

"Come here," Optimus said softly, opening an arm for her. It took a moment for the words to get through her processor, and after a klick's thought she hesitantly sidled her way to his side. He pulled her against him, easing their sparkling into her arms. She felt a sob rise in her throat, and though she struggled to contain it, she was utterly out of strength. Tears fell onto the sparkling's cheeks to mingle with his, and he cooed contentedly up at his mother.

Sensing a very private moment coming on, Ratchet hurriedly ushered his victorious companions from the room, shutting the door behind him. Optimus took no notice of their absence, smiling as his sparkmate burst into unrestrained tears, clutching her son to her chassis.

"Primus almighty," she whimpered, kissing the sparkling gently (he squawked in protest, apparently not the type to be smothered). "I…we…he's…"

Optimus gently took both sparkmate and child into his arms, holding both close to his chest. The two most precious sparks in the entire world, finally in his long-empty embrace. The young commander who had first been smitten by Elita a vorn ago could not have possibly predicted this. The matured, older commander who had fallen in love with Elita One was watching it unfold.

"Rodimus," he murmured, stroking his son's faceplates with gentle fingers. "You've been through a lot, haven't you? Shh…don't cry. Welcome, little one. Welcome home."

. E N D . T R A N S M I S S I O N .

**Okay, so this chapter was much more a joy to write than I thought it would be. I didn't have to do as much scientific stuff as I thought…whew. Oh, slag, it's eleven o' clock…and I've got a major algebra test tomorrow. Must run, but I hope to see you all next chapter! Were you all happy to finally meet the sparkling? I lovey mah Roddy. :D**

**Please enjoy, please review, in that order. **

**By the way, if I fail that test, it's all your guys's fault.**

**Just for an added bonus, here's Plenoptic's schedule!**

**1.) Wakes up and hits alarm clock until it fragging shuts up. **

**2.) Goes to school.**

**3.) Stares at wall in class.**

**4.) Leaves school. Angels sing.**

**5.) Chills with Bee and Ryo and Sai.**

**6.) Goes to karate.**

**7.) Goes home.**

**8.) Thinks "I need to do my homework."**

**9.) Gets on Checks for more reviews.**

**11.) Checks poll.**

**12.) Checks for updates on favorite stories.**

**13.) Edits documents.**

**14.) Disconnects from internet and opens up Microsoft Works.**

**15.) Works on upcoming chapter (usually takes me about two to three days). **

**16.) Looks at clock.**

**17.) Says "Holy crap!"**

**18.) Runs to do homework. Will trade chocolate for tutor.**

**19.) Showers. **

**20.) Goes to bed with wet hair. That'll be fun in the morning.**

**21.) Wakes up.**

**The End! Now you've spent a typical day with Plenoptic. Don't even get me started on weekends...XD Mwa ha ha ha. **


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter Twenty Five**

_Plenoptic_

**Hiyas, people! I swear I'm trying to finish this series, really I am…but writing a conclusion to a twenty five chapter fic is really grating on the creative nerves….Holy frag, twenty five?! How did this get so long?!**

**Sorry…**

**Anyway, now I get to blabber and have fun with a very small family. Makes me happy! By the way, I have an author alert for you all…there's this new author called Fire Demon Tatsu (sweet name!) who seems to have published an OptimusXElita. I haven't had time to review yet, so please go give--her, I believe--lots of props! She did review for Chapter One of this series, so…yeah.**

**Onwards! How is our Roddy acclimatizing to the Autobot base…and more importantly, how is the base acclimatizing to him?! Please enjoy, please review, in that order, unless you see fit to do it in another.**

**Oh yeah…I really did mean to go further into the end of this chapter, except then I'd have to change the rating. :D**

**Oh yes, would you all like to know why I'm terrified? See end of chapter...By the way, I got a lot of my inspiration for this chapter from the Transformers 1980s movie, which I got for Christmas. :D I've seen it three times so far. I was a little put off, however, seeing as how each and every one of my favorite characters got killed off in the first twenty or so minutes...Uh...except for Hot Rod. And Kup. I love you, Kup...! Well, I would, if it weren't for the fact that you're old. Like, OLD.**

.B E G I N . T R A N S M I S S I O N .

"Oh, Primus, make it stop!"

"Mercy! Have mercy!"

"Where's Optimus?!"

"My audios!"

"Ow, it hurts!"

"_Optimus!"_

"**Someone make it shut up!"** Jazz howled, clapping his hands around the sides of his head. **"Optimus!"**

It took all of five klicks for the large mech to shove past his subordinates in the command center and lean down to scoop his wailing sparkling into his massive arms. "Shh, little one," he soothed gently, nuzzling Rodimus's forehead. The child shuddered; his father's mask felt so cold against his own fragile frame. But it was a very reassuring kind of cold. "What's wrong, my child?"

Oh yeah. He'd been crying, hadn't he? With that thought for confirmation, Rodimus willingly burst right back into tears. Optimus grimaced; his audio receptors were not built to take that kind of abuse. "Rodimus, what's wrong? Jazz, what happened?"

"I don't know!" Jazz howled, cradling his head. "I handed him off to Springer, and then--"

"Don't you pin this on me!" Springer wailed, pointing an accusing finger at the saboteur. "I handed him off to the twins!"

"We gave him to Prowl!" they chorused.

"I gave him to Jetfire!"

"And _I _gave him to Wheeljack!"

"I passed him to Jazz!"

"Slag," the special operations officer grumbled, crumpling under his commander's suddenly icy glare. "Sorry, Optimus…I kinda…see, he seemed hungry, so I…I sorta…I think I gave him energon that was just a teensy, eensy bit too strong, and--"

"It was high grade, wasn't it."

"I swear I didn't know at the time! I would have sworn on my spark that it was the solution Ratchet made for him and Catalyst, and I really do swear on my own spark that I wasn't the one who left a cube of high grade lying around!"

Optimus held up one hand against the stem of excuses, now looking down at his sparkling. Rodimus had ceased his wails and was now emitting anxious, high pitched squeaks. Ignorant to his father's prodding, he offered no evidence that nothing was wrong; on the contrary, he offered some very clear evidence that an excess of Ratchet would very soon be required.

"Contact Ratchet via comm link," Optimus said abruptly, whirling to face Prowl. "Tell him Rodimus is ill. Tell him I'll be down in a moment. Jazz, get back to your post. I'll deal with you accordingly later. And to whoever was genius enough to leave a cube of high grade lying around my command center," he added in a raised voice, "you can consider your aft royally fragged."

A simultaneous shudder passed through the assorted Autobots, and a few tossed suspicious glances at the most likely suspects. Jazz, fraught with worry as he watched Optimus exit the command center, was for once deemed innocent, and as the twins were demanding of each other why the other did it, they seemed out of the picture as well. Prowl was immediately overruled; not one Autobot, Optimus included, had the guts to accuse the second-in-command of any unseemly behavior on base or otherwise. Chromia and Ironhide could have been held under some scrutiny if it weren't for the fact that were both were slagging holo-Cons at the moment in the shooting range--and both were, as of late, acutely aware of the many threats to a sparkling's health.

Even as Optimus made his unusually quick way to the medical bay where Ratchet worriedly awaited him, the suspect elimination continued in the command room. By the end of the short gossip period, the possible suspects had been narrowed down to Wheeljack and Jetfire. Personal scrutiny revealed that many mechs suspected both scientists together; they had been understandably overworked the past few orns, and had seemed a little overenthusiastic on the night shift a few joors ago. High grade could do that to even the most serious of mechs.

Ignorant to whatever frownable activities his men were up to at any given moment, Optimus Prime shot down the twisted halls of his base with surprising speed for one his size, his sparkling clutched tightly against his chest. Rodimus's frail squeaks had died into pathetic whimpers as his small frame clung helplessly to his father's immense chassis.

"It's alright, little one," Optimus murmured, absently stroking his son's back in an effort to both keep the sparkling calm and conscious; he had no idea what exactly high grade could do to a sparkling, but if the twins' repulsive behavior while over energized was any indication, it wasn't anything to rejoice about. Rodimus released one feeble warble in reply; though neither his vocalizer nor his processor had developed fully, he recognized the reassurance in his father's words.

"Ratchet!" Optimus said loudly, kicking at the med bay door (his arms were rather full). "It's me, open up!"

The doors slid apart with a rather strained hiss, as Ratchet had forced them open against the will of the automated system. "Give," the tired medic grunted, taking the sparkling in capable hands and carrying the suffering little 'bot to the closest examination berth. "Don't let him go crawling away, Optimus."

The commander stood at the side of the berth, one hand on his son's head, both optics watching the medic critically as Ratchet readied his various tools. "Ratchet?"

"Mn," the seemingly drained CMO replied, casting a single glance back at the younger mech. "What?"

"Are you alright?"

"Define alright, Optimus."

Prime cocked his head, waiting for an explanation, but none was forthcoming as Ratchet rejoined his patient and his anxious onlooker. Optimus backed away dutifully, albeit unwillingly, his optics once more locking in upon his son as Ratchet bent over the trembling sparkling.

"High grade?" he asked tiredly, and Optimus grunted his assent. "How much?"

"No idea. A cube, I believe, or somewhere close to that."

"Frag. What kind?"

"We'll be able to determine that little detail as soon as our culprit has been picked out," Optimus growled, his optics narrowing, and Ratchet couldn't hide a smile. He felt his own share of sympathy for the sorry mech who had gotten Optimus Prime's beloved Rodimus into the med bay.

And that excluded Elita.

Ratchet shuddered at this thought; the femme was going to be beside herself. The medic wouldn't be surprised if Elita took a leaf out of Chromia's book and marched into the command center with an assortment of weapons that suddenly looked a lot more dangerous when in her very capable, _accurate_ hands. The femme commander slightly resembled a character out of a horror story when she was angry.

_Slightly resembled _as in she was often a better Megatron than Megatron was.

Ratchet sighed miserably and looked down at his young patient. The sparkling was panting audibly, his intakes wheezing for each breath. His optics fluttered uncertainly as he blinked up at the medic, his tiny fingers clutching at the sides of the berth. A small tremor ran through the sparkling's abdomen.

Ratchet knew that sign only too well.

"Incoming," he said, taking an automatic step back, just in time to avoid a very violent waste tank upheaval.

"Rodimus!" Optimus yelped, making towards his son, but Ratchet held his commander at bay with one arm. "Ratchet! Do something!"

"I'd love to," Ratchet grumbled, holding the sparkling's head over a stainless steel basin he'd seemingly magicked out of nowhere. "I'll just suspend all of that high grade in his system, how about that, Optimus?"

Prime fell silent, watching his sick little sparkling with despairing optics. Ratchet sighed softly and turned back to Rodimus, rubbing the little 'bot's back as badly digested high grade was erratically expelled from his fragile systems. "That's right, little one," he coaxed gently. "Get it all out. You'll be okay."

The passed breem heralded an exhausted Rodimus and a bloodthirsty Elita. She almost bypassed the med bay in her attack upon the command center, but at Optimus's gentle tugging at her spark backtracked to see to her sparkling. As she soothed his distressed chirps and warbles, Prime stood nearby, ever the protective father.

"Here," Elita said softly, getting to her feet and depositing the tired sparkling into his father's warm arms. "Take him back to our quarters, will you?"

"Elita," he began, but she cut him off.

"I won't do anything rash. I won't deal out punishments. I know slagging well that it's your job to see to your troops. However, from a mother's point of view, I'm going to give them a piece of my processor."

He sighed; he supposed this was part of what he loved about her. "Alright. Don't hurt anyone. Using guns counts as punishment, my dear."

She rolled her optics and, with a parting kiss to each of her favorite mechs, she left the med bay, using all of her will power to make the transition from loving parent to very angry mother.

Optimus looked down at his sparkling, stroking one fragile audio receptor. "Poor thing," he sighed sympathetically. "Don't worry. You'll be able to pay them all back ten fold once you're full grown, won't you?"

Rodimus yawned in reply, snuggling deeper into his father's huge chassis. It had been a long day, and his tanks ached. Recharge was needed. Failure to comply would result in a lot of slagged audio receptors.

"Ratchet?" Optimus inquired, turning to the medic, who was busily cleaning up the floor. "May I take him to our quarters?"

"Please do," Ratchet replied, not looking up from his work. "He should be fine now. Let him recharge as long as he wants, he won't need to wake up for anything."

"Thank you," Optimus replied, and was about to leave before he hesitated, turning back to his medic. "And…Ratchet?"

"Mn?" the CMO grunted.

"If you ever need to talk…you know. Just…in general. I'm willing to listen."

Ratchet glanced up to see very concerned optics staring back at him. With a sigh, he abandoned his cleaning rag and got heavily to his feet. "Thanks," he replied gruffly, stretching his sore joints. "I'll be alright, Optimus. Worry about Rodimus. Worry about Elita. And for pity's sake, worry about yourself. We're slagged if we lose you now--I really don't trust that runt with the Matrix."

Optimus laughed. "Well, that makes two of us. For now."

* * *

A very tired Elita One nudged the door open a joor later, her face nearly as dark as her mood. She'd taken temporary satisfaction in the fact that she'd had every mech in the command center cowering against the wall--yes, she enjoyed that very much. Her victory had been dampened only moments later, when Moonracer had faked ill and been rushed to the med bay (poor Ratchet), leaving Elita to take the rest of her subordinate's shift.

The femme commander sighed heavily as she entered the room; the wee hours of the dawn had sprung upon the chronometer. Her scowl was softened only by the two mechs sprawled upon the recharge berth, both snoring contentedly. Rodimus was spread across his father's chassis, his tiny fingers wrapped around the edges of the commander's chest plates. Optimus shifted slightly, struggling to reach a deeper recharge, and the sparkling hissed in protest, much as Elita did whenever her mech unintentionally dislodged her.

Elita, having to shove aside a few large limbs, made herself comfortable with the available room on the berth. Not that she particularly minded being pressed so close between the wall and Optimus. It was a rather comforting feeling.

Until he tried to roll over.

"No! Optimus, wake up! Nooo!"

Prime grunted distantly, stirring with encouragement from the thrashing femme trapped beneath his massive frame. Primus, when did the mech get so slaggin' big? she wondered, panting slightly. A very irate Rodimus squealed in protest as he lost his grip on his sire's armor, instead tumbling onto his equally miffed mother.

The large commander blinked blearily as his processors came online, struggling to make sense as to why his lover was beating his chest plates. He almost opened his mouth to tell her to stop before he realized that he was crushing the two most precious beings in the universe. With a startled cry he leapt away, tumbling off of the opposing side of the berth and landing upon the ground with a very audible crash. Rodimus giggled, and Elita forced herself up, having been forced partially into the crack between wall and berth.

"You okay?" she chuckled, peeking over the edge of the bunk at her disoriented sparkmate.

"I think so," he replied, blinking at the chronometer. "Primus…it's early."

"Yeah, well, it's your own fault," she chided, mock scowling. "You rolled onto me."

He smirked, his optics brightening. "You've never had a problem with that before."

Elita rolled her optics and patted the recharge berth. "Whatever. Get back up here and go back into recharge. You too, Rodimus…come here, you."

Rodimus pouted as he was tucked neatly back into the thermal blankets; the rambunctious venture had given him an inkling that he would be played with. And with the high grade expelled from his systems, he was more than ready.

And Optimus was beginning to see the downsides to having Rodimus in their quarters; he'd had a completely different kind of "playing" in mind that his sparkling would not be ready to see for vorns and vorns to come. Ignoring his craving for intimacy, he slid into the berth, trapping Rodimus between himself and his beloved sparkmate. The sparkling chirped contentedly, snuggling himself against their chests--against their sparks. Elita smiled and stroked her son's faceplates; he turned his face up into her touch, purring softly. She felt his gentle waves of love crash against her spark, a feeling she happily reciprocated. So enticed was she with her sparkling that she almost didn't recognize the second, irritable spark that lie just a little further away. Elita glanced up at her lover and smirked; the lustful gaze of his optics clearly conveyed what he had in mind.

And his ideas were hindered only by the sparkling between them.

Elita reached over her child to pull Optimus into her kiss, gently prying his lips apart with her mouth. He moaned softly as her glossa danced with his, then growled in disappointment when she pulled away, settling back against the berth. She grinned into the headrest; served the little pervert right. She'd let him suffer for awhile. He'd have to wait to get what he wanted…

But she wasn't going to taunt him too long.

That was the double edged sword to top them all.

* * *

Springer sighed heavily and slumped against his chair, staring dully at the monitor. It beeped.

"You look pretty fantastic yourself," he replied, scowling. Okay, he needed company. He knew he was almost out of his processor when he started conversing with the computers.

That company came, heralded by an excited warble behind him. Spinning his chair around, he grinned widely to see his favorite sparkling clamber towards him, still clumsy on his newly functional legs.

"Hot Rodimus," Springer joked, bending down to scoop the little 'bot into his lap. "How's my little buddy doin'?"

Rodimus beamed affectionately up at his favorite playmate, his optics conveying his joy at their reunion. Springer had been away on missions a lot as of late; neither of them liked it--at all--but one of them understood that such things just happened in war.

"I know I haven't seen ya in ages," Springer went on, leaning back in his chair and lacing his fingers behind his head, "but I'm gonna make it up to ya, Roddy. I'll talk to your Dad today, okies? See if you can hang with me in my quarters tonight. You're first sleep over. Ain't that cute?"

Rodimus chirped excitedly; Springer's enthusiastic expression was enough to ensure the sparkling that he was in for a good time. The young officer's sudden look of mild worry was enough to signify an approaching rain cloud.

Designation: Kup.

"There he is," the old warrior growled, his optics narrowing as he approached the pair. "Rodimus, your mother's been looking all over for you. I told Ratchet he needed to make those little legs functional…Springer, what's up with you? Springer?"

The younger mech said nothing, nor did he move. Kup arched an optic ridge and waved his hand in front of Springer's face. Rodimus squeaked, concerned.

"Shh, Rods," Springer hissed quietly. "Maybe if we hold real still, the blind old bat won't notice we're here."

Kup narrowed his optics and straightened with a growl. "Cute. I'll remember that next time your life's in my hands, boy."

Springer grinned and abandoned his frozen state to grin up at his senior. "Hiyas, Kup! How long have you been standing there! What was that about Rod?"

"Rodimus," Kup corrected dangerously. "Don't go off with all of the juvenile nicknames this early in the game, Springer."

"But Rodimus makes him sound so _old_," the young mech complained, looking down at his little charge. "I say we call him Hot Rod."

Kup rolled his optics. "You go ahead, lad, see how Optimus likes that."

"Hot Rod seems to like it," Springer countered. "See, look? He's all bouncy and chirpy."

"He's _always _bouncy and chirpy."

"Point taken."

Kup sighed and folded his arms over his chest, carefully scrutinizing the happy little sparkling. Rodimus, feeling the old mech's gaze, turned to face him in Springer's lap and looked obligingly up at his wizened guardian. Kup snorted and straightened, patting Rodimus's head.

"I get the distinct feeling you're going to be a real pain in my skidplate someday," he smirked, grinning down at the sparkling. "So I'm going to enjoy this innocence while I can. Ready to go back to your mother?"

Rodimus craned his head back to look inquiringly at Springer, who smiled in reply. "Go on, Hot Rod. I promise to talk to your dad. I'll bet Elita's worried sick if she can't find you."

"You bet your smart mouth she is," Kup replied, scooping the sparkling into his arms. "Sparklings weren't built to go running off by themselves, especially in these troubled times. Why, I remember once on Tyger Pax--"

"Kup. Spare me," Springer said, wincing. "We've all heard the Tyger Pax story, okay?"

"Grimlock still likes it," Kup defended.

Springer rolled his optics. "Well, that's _Grimlock_," he snorted dryly. "Although the fact that you got a Dinobot to understand you does grant you boasting rights."

Kup cracked a real smile. "Whaddaya know. You're smarter than you look, lad."

"Yeah, I'll just be takin' that as a compliment."

* * *

"He's with _Springer_?! Our sparkling--our Rodimus--is with _Springer_ for the rest of the night?"

"Elita, please calm down," Optimus sighed, turning down the volume on his audio reception. "Springer seemed sincere when he said he just wanted to enjoy Rodimus's company. Besides," he added, smoothing his voice into a more seductive air, "I've been wanting to enjoy _your_ company for some time now."

Elita rolled her optics, shaking her head. "So you shipped Rodimus off to Springer to get some alone time with me, did you?"

"Only partially," Optimus replied, his optics alive and mischievous. "Do you have a problem with that?"

"I have a problem with the fact that you seem to think you have me at your disposal," she replied, arching an optic ridge. "Which you don't."

"Don't I?" he purred, taking a step forward. She took a step back.

"No, you don't," she said firmly, glaring at him.

"Then would you possibly consider relinquishing yourself to me?" he asked softly, stepping close enough that their chests touched. She swallowed nervously, suddenly aware of how close to the edge of the recharge berth she was. She knew he'd never even think of forcing her upon it, but it certainly wasn't making resisting him any easier.

"If you keep acting like this, you'll be lucky to ever recharge on this berth again," she said coolly, not once abandoning her composure even under his lustful gaze.

He smirked. "No matter. We can always move to yours."

Her optics flashed angrily, and he weighed his options. If she didn't comply, she could hurt him very bodily; if she complied, she could make interface regular torture for him. She could even leave him hanging on the edge of overload. He shuddered at the thought.

"Maybe we can compromise?" he suggested, and she frowned.

"Elaborate."

"You could kiss me on your own terms," he murmured, sending her some very erotic images through their bond.

She scowled hard into his face. "I should think not," she replied scathingly, shaking her head hard to clear her processor of the very tempting pictures. "That seems to run right along the lines of relinquishing myself to you."

"On the contrary," he relied skeptically, "I would be giving myself to you."

"You mean I'd be taking you."

"Which I don't have a problem with. And you shouldn't, either," he added, looking at her seriously. "I am yours. I thought I made that clear to you long ago."

Elita scrutinized him carefully, meeting his hungry blue optics with her own calm ones. She frowned slightly; lust really didn't suit him. It reminded her too much of Megatron. Yet it wasn't unusual for one who was bonded to feel those occasional, unexplainable cravings. And her sparkmate had obviously been harboring such yearnings for some time.

Curious to see just how close to loss of self control her lover truly was, she lifted a hand to cup his cheek. Guiding his face down to hers, she pressed her lips against his. A shudder immediately exploded through his frame, and his interface systems whirred loudly. Elita jerked back, surprised, and he bent his head with a groan.

"Primus almighty," she snorted, reaching out and tracing his chest plates. He moaned softly, gritting his teeth. "You're really yearning for something or other, aren't you?"

"Please don't tempt me," he groaned, opening one optic to observe her carefully. "I really don't appreciate being made to suffer like this."

She laughed softly, edging closer to delicately kiss his jaw. He shivered. "I rarely get you in a state like this. I have to admit I'm curious to see what you're like when you truly lose control."

"_I'm_ curious to see what rewards it reaps, so I would strongly advise you against doing that," he growled, far too conscious of the small arms that reached around him, of the fingers that brushed his aft.

"Then how about this?" she purred, drawing him closer. "About that compromise. How about I get you first?"

He grimaced. Evil. His sparkmate was truly evil.

"And after that?" he growled, lowering his head to nip at her neck wiring. "Do I get my femme or what?"

"You'll have to take me," she replied devilishly, grinning.

He considered. All in all, he couldn't say he found a single downside in her terms. And he so craved her. He didn't know how much longer he'd be able to keep his own carefully honed control. Elita One had a way of making him unravel.

"I'm all yours," he breathed, going lax in her arms. "Go easy on me."

She snorted.

. I N T E R F A C E . S Y S T E M . O V E R R I D E .

PLEASE REBOOT PROCESSORS.

OVERLOAD DETECTED.

**PLEASE REBOOT PROCESSORS.**

* * *

**Okay, why I'm terrified.**

**There is this new username called "Plenoptic's Number One Fans." It is comprised of two people. Pocky and Hana.**

...**WHY DO YOU PEOPLE WANT MY SOCKS?!**

**(flees)**


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter Twenty Six**

_Plenoptic_

**Hello to the world! I have nothing to say here…except that just now I had a very violent case of the hiccups. **

**Ow.**

**Okay, they're gone now. Oh yeah, sorry if Kup seems just a little OOC. I wanted to have some fun, and I'm not altogether familiar with his character, but he was awesome in the movie, so…yeah. **

"**They're closing in on us!"**

"**Yeah, just like the Strikebats of Dramadon."**

"**How'd ya beat them?"**

"**I'm trying to remember…there were an awful lot of casualties that day."**

**XD (Hot Rod and Kup exchange…these two had me laughing the entire movie) My little sisters loved the part when they're taking off in the shuttle that first time, and Kup is reminiscing about petro-rabbits, then is all "Grimlock, getcher noodle out of my face!" And then of course, we all dropped into hysterics when they're all dancing on Junk, chanting "Bah weep grannah weep ni ni bong." Nothing like seeing Perceptor dance disco. **

**But Kup dancing will give me nightmares.**

**Anyway, what I love about this chapter is that I was able to portray Optimus with a very puppy-like nature around Elita. It was just altogether very fun to write. **

. B E G I N . T R A N S M I S S I O N .

Springer inhaled deeply. The command center was virtually empty, due to the newness of the day; most of the chronometers displayed a disgustingly early hour (with the exception of the ones Wheeljack had tinkered with, which read thirty-two o' clock). The room was occupied by a very few people, namely Optimus Prime and a small amount of his inner circle.

Including Kup.

Springer gave himself a mental push and approached the senior warrior cautiously. Kup probably wasn't half as focused on the monitor as he appeared to be; one could only watch a blank screen for so long before their processor began to think idly of more interesting things. Like Elita One, Springer thought, watching the femme commander with the utmost concentration as she moseyed into the room before mentally slapping himself. _Taken. Slaggit. We need more female recruits. _

"So," Springer said casually, and Kup jumped slightly.

"Springer! Don't sneak up on me, lad! Primus, just like my junior officer on the Eleventh Nebulae of--sorry," he added, as Springer's optics adapted a very far away look. "What'd you need?"

"I, uh," Springer paused. How to put this? "Well…good news."

"Yeah?" Kup grunted, turning back to the monitor.

"Well, uh…congratulations! You've been assigned to sparkling duty! Starting…uh…now! In't that great?"

"…_**OPTIMUS!!!!!"**_

"Kup!"

"Slaggit, don't you get smart on me!" Kup roared, springing from his seat to face the Autobot commander, who was leaning over the balcony, his mask hiding his amused smirk. "What makes you think for even one nanosecond that I'm capable of sparkling duty?! I'm not a sparkling sitter, I'm a warrior, you little glitch head!"

"Ouch."

"Get your immature aft down here! I want to have some range when I punch your fragging face in!"

Optimus laughed. "I'll just stay up here, thanks."

"Optimus Prime, when I get my hands on you--!"

"I love you too, Kup!"

"Optimuuuuuuuus!"

"You made him mad," Elita said disapprovingly, raising her voice to make herself heard over the old warrior. "Good going, Optimus."

"Actually, Springer made him mad," Optimus replied, grinning widely.

"I'm being serious," Elita said worriedly, frowning at her sparkmate. Primus, the mech could be an immature little git sometimes. "At his age, he could blow a circuit or something."

"Hey, Ratchet needs something to do anyway," Optimus said wickedly, and Elita groaned.

"You're terrible."

"No, you put me in a good mood," he replied lightly, bending over to nuzzle her cheek. "Last night, I mean."

"Ugh," she responded, pushing him away. "I'm spoiling you."

"Not that I have a problem with that."

"I hate you."

"I know."

"Hey, are you listening to me?!" Kup demanded angrily, waving his fist in their general direction. "Optimus!"

"Please, Kup?" Optimus begged, leaning over the balcony once more. "Rodimus trusts you. He's fond of you. I'm not sure I could get him to settle down with anyone else."

Kup sighed; the younger mech posed an excellent point. As always. "I don't know, Optimus."

"I can arrange time in between your shifts. I'm begging, Kup. Just until I've got some time and can watch over the little guy myself."

Kup groaned. His audio receptors weren't going to survive this. "…Alright. I'll do it. But only for a few orns! This had better not be anything permanent!"

"It won't be," Optimus assured him, relief washing over his faceplates. "I owe you one, Kup. I owe you a couple, actually."

"Don't think I won't hold you to that."

"Absolutely. Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah…"

* * *

"Kup!"

"Yeah, that's me."

"Kup!"

"Good job."

"Kup!"

"Hit the nail on the head."

"Kup Kup Kup Kup--"

"Oh Primus, help me," Kup moaned, putting his face in his hands. "He's like a little mechano-cat, he won't shut up!"

"Stay strong, Kup. Stay strong," Wheeljack said over their comm link, sounding just a little distracted. "Oh--oh, it's working! Hey, I gotta go, better find Jetfire and tell him that--oh. Never mind. No, wait--! Please don't explode, I--ah! Gotta go, Kup, sorry!"

Kup groaned as the comm link fizzled into static. He was running out of people to complain to. Rodimus was happily bouncing up and down on the recharge berth, pausing every now and again to cocoon himself in the thermal blankets. Kup glanced over at the bunk to see a bright pair of optics peeking out at him from beneath a mass of insulated fabric. There was a squeal, and the optics disappeared; the lump writhed excitedly, almost seeming to beg Kup to play.

"What'd Springer call you?" the old warrior grunted, getting to his feet and poking the lump experimentally. "Hot Rod?"

The lump giggled.

"…I guess I could get used to that," Kup amended, digging through the blankets and removing a flailing sparkling. "Hot Rod, eh? It suits you."

Hot Rod blew a raspberry.

"I remember when Optimus was your size," Kup reflected, sitting back down at his desk and perching the sparkling on his knee. "He was quite the handful, if I remember…him and Megatron. But I guess you wouldn't know about your uncle yet, would you? Thank Primus for that…and let's hope you never have to know him."

Hot Rod yawned, sprawling himself across Kup's lap and staring blearily at the bright computer monitor. He'd spent most of his day chasing mechano-cats on the base's wide grounds, accompanied by a very protective Elita (the femme had glared down anyone who came too close until they retreated). Needless to say, the little tyke was tired, and when he slept, he _slept_.

So it was thanks to the mechano-cats that Kup got any rest that night. Looking down, he couldn't help but smile; the sparkling was kind of endearing when he was asleep. His resemblance to Optimus and Elita was astounding; he rather had Optimus's build, but also carried every bit of Elita's grace (in a less feminine form). No doubt he'd one day adopt the flame décor like his father.

"I guess I could get used to you," Kup mumbled, patting the child's head. The sparkling hiccupped. "Maybe…"

* * *

Elita One decided that evening that her sparkmate was an unadulterated, uncontrollable interface fiend.

"For the love of Primus, Optimus!" she growled in frustration, rolling over and glaring at him as his hand ghosted over her hip for the millionth time that recharge cycle. "Just because Rodimus is with Kup tonight--"

"For the love of Primus, Elita," he mimicked, scowling, "is it so wrong that I want a little time with my sparkmate?"

"You had me last night! I had _you_ last night, for Cybertron's sake! Has your interface drive always been this insatiable, or is this a new development?"

"Good question," he laughed quietly, his optics alight with new amusement at her temper. "You're delightful when you're angry, did I ever tell you that?"

"That's it. I'm recharging with _Ironhide_ tonight," she growled, sitting up.

"No, Elita, come on," he begged, following suit and taking her hand. "At least crack a smile when you make jokes like that."

"Who said I was joking?" she demanded.

He said nothing, his optics betraying the hurt in his spark. She sighed as her temper cooled; she could hardly stay angry with him when he donned his helpless puppy look. Exhaling deeply, Elita lay back down on the recharge berth, and he happily followed, pressing closer to her lithe body.

"You're not easily satisfied, are you?"

"Not when it comes to you, no," he replied, curling his frame around her. "You could just give in for once."

"We had this discussion last night," she growled, squirming in an attempt to get away. "And you're treating me like a pillow!"

"Sorry. But I get you so rarely nowadays…when I do have you, you can hardly expect me to want to let go."

Elita sighed; she could relate. Neither could deny how deep they were being dragged into the Primus-slagged war; their precious time together had been sorely diminished, and consequently their already limited time with their sparkling.

"…Optimus Prime."

"Hn?"

"Autobot commander. Second in command is the spawn of Primus."

"What?" he grunted, but she offered no reply, having cuddled against her lover's frame and sunk deep into recharge. He bent his head to gaze down at the femme he so loved, his optics softening as they caressed her small frame. He cupped one hand against her cheek, tilting her head up so he could admire her beautiful face. Gently so as not to wake her, he leant down and planted a tender kiss upon her supple lips. Lying back against the headrest, he frowned slightly:

_Since when is Prowl the spawn of Primus?_

* * *

"Unexpected surprise," Ratchet mused dryly, and Optimus scowled at him darkly. Despite having his sparkmate in his arms, the commander's recharge had been a fitful one, haunted once more by strange dreams much resembling those he'd experienced before Rodimus's birth.

"Ratchet, I'm here because I really need your help," Optimus said wearily, and the medic softened immediately. He could hardly deny the mech he'd helped to raise from sparklinghood.

"Alright, Optimus. I'm listening," the CMO said gently, smiling. "What's on your processor?"

Optimus scrutinized him carefully. It wasn't that he didn't trust Ratchet, because he did; with every ounce of his spark he trusted the older mech who sat before him. The medic had been a constant in his life, a guardian vorns ago and a beloved friend now. The only one in the med bay Optimus didn't trust at that moment was himself.

"It's going to sound insane," he said miserably, sinking down slightly in his seat.

"Optimus, I always think you sound insane," Ratchet said, in what he must have thought was a comforting tone.

"Thanks," Prime replied darkly, scowling behind his mask, but the expression easily reached his optics. "I told you, didn't I? About those dreams I had before Rodimus came along?"

"Yes. I remember. The one about some Autobot--and I quote--lighting our darkest hour?"

"Exactly." A pause. "I had another one."

Ratchet lifted his optic ridges. "Did you now?"

"Yeah. Only, this one was…different. It was weird."

"Weirder than a dream in which Primus speaks to you? Good children of Cybertron, this ought to be interesting."

"Do you want me to tell you or not?" Optimus asked heatedly, and Ratchet laughed.

"Yes, please. What happened?"

"It's going to sound crazy."

"It's called a mid-life crisis, Optimus."

"Shut up."

"Sorry."

Prime inhaled deeply, taking his optics offline. He could do this. "There was a planet."

"Well, that's a start."

"Shut up!"

"_Sorry_."

"…And then…"

"Yes?"

"…So there's the planet. And it…Ratchet, it…it was…" Optimus hesitating, struggling for something a little more descriptive than what he had in mind. No such luck. "It _ate_ another."

Ratchet stared. "A planet?"

"Yeah."

"It ate another planet."

"Yeah."

The medic blinked and grinned weakly. "You're right. That does sound crazy."

"I'm out of here."

"No, Optimus, wait. Let's just think about this. Sit your skidplate back down."

Optimus obliged, scowling. Had he made a mistake in telling Ratchet? Although Ironhide would have hardly been a better listener…and Prowl would be the first to tell him it was completely illogical and that his young, energetic processor was playing with him. Jazz would gore him for details and enthuse how awesome it was, and Elita would probably lift an optic ridge and give him her complacent "Uh-huh."

So apparently the skeptic CMO was his only real option.

"I know it sounds insane, Ratchet," the young commander said wearily, his optics pleading. "But this is what I dreamt, okay? I swear to Primus and Primacon I'm not making a thing up."

"I know, young one. I know," Ratchet said quickly, his tone softening. "I believe you, I swear I do. I'll always believe you, and you should slagging well know that. I--"

"Slag…ing?" a tiny voice chirped, and both mechs looked down.

Rodimus sat on the floor between them, blinking up at them with doleful optics. "Slagging?" he repeated curiously, and Ratchet's optics widened slightly.

"I…uh…his first…word…"

Optimus moaned and put his face in his hands. "Elita's going to kill me."

. E N D . T R A N S M I S S I O N .

**So I'm thinking that maybe the next chapter will be the last…but I have my misgivings about making this story's end so anti-climatic. Maybe something huge should happen? Maybe it should end on a nice, family note, in which Optimus and Elita vow eternity to one another?**

…

**I dunno. Tell me what ya think.**

**Guess what? A guinea pig just peed on my kitchen floor. **


	27. ARC 4: Sparkache

**Chapter Twenty Seven**

_Plenoptic_

**My computer's being a butt again. What's that you said? "What's new, Plenoptic?"? Well, yeah, you got me there…**

**So, will this be the last chapter? Will it not?**

**Haven't decided yet. You know, I had a lot of trouble deciding what Rodimus would call his parents. I couldn't really see Elita as the "mama" type, and I couldn't see Optimus wanting a sparkling calling him "father". So Papa and Mother it was. Weird deal. Optimus will probably become Father eventually.**

**A lot of this chappie was written in a very immature voice, because a lot of it is from Rodimus's viewpoint on his parents. That was part of the reason why this chapter was so much fun to write. Oh yeah…I got to bring in Arcee! Huzzah! Half the time I love that chicka, half the time I hate her…she was hysterical during the "Bah Weep Grannah Weep Ni Ni Bong" dance scene in the 1986 movie, tho. XD**

**Nothin like watchin Perceptor do disco. (Only Kup was dancing too. Which was actually a bit disturbing). **

**I was trying to think of a catalyst for one last battle for this chapter, and I was totally lost…I didn't like the idea of Megatron randomly attacking. But then, I got the most evil, brilliant idea…and I'm sure all you Magnus fans out there are gonna hate me, but I had to do it! I felt really bad, tho…:D please don't hurt me. But it's a good plot twist, if I do say so myself…**

**Please enjoy, please review, in that order.**

. B E G I N . T R A N S M I S S I O N .

In Rodimus's mind, he had four parents. Two, of course, were Mother and Papa: the bots who tucked him in at night, who watched over him while he slept, who told him stories, who explained to him things no one else had time to bother with. It was Mother who was teaching him how to read, how to do math (something Rodimus strongly disliked). She taught him other things, too: she taught him about their inorganic bodies, and how they worked, what specific parts did, how they changed as they got older. She told him about their sparks, what they really were, and then how, well, no one really knew what they were. That confused Rodimus just a bit.

And then there was Papa, who left all of the academics to Mother. He instead spent long breems out of his breaks and even his shifts showing Rodimus the technicalities of fighting. He showed his young mech where to hold his fists in hand-to-hand combat, where to mount a gun on his shoulder (reminded him which way the gun faced), how to take down airborne targets, where to fire on mechs of all different sizes, and, most importantly, how to run and shoot at the same time.

Mother never seemed to approve of those practices. At night, when they thought he was in recharge, he heard them argue about it a lot.

"He's just barely out of his birthling phase--"

"But the point is, he's out of it!"

"So you see fit to hand him a rifle and tell him where to shoot?!"

"We can't hold the Decepticons off forever!"

"And even if he was placed in combat at his age, you think he has the mentality to actually stand and fight?"

"That's why I'm trying to make it instinct!"

"Could you fight on instinct when you were a sparkling?"

"I didn't need to! The rebel movement was almost nonexistent, and Megatron was doing schoolwork like I was!"

"So why should Rodimus's upbringing be any different?!"

"Because we're at _war_, Elita! And for Primus's sake, I don't want to turn our son into a war machine any more than you do, but if Megatron ever finds out his connection to us, he'll come after him! I don't want to give Rodimus a warrior's mentality, I'd never wish that kind of scarring upon him! What I want to give him is a chance to survive, a chance to fight back! Think back to the Youth Section, Elita! The attack on those sparklings started this war! If those sparklings had known how to fight--at all--then the casualties could have been reduced to half of what they were!"

"Optimus--!"

It was usually at that point that Springer or Kup came in and took Rodimus to their quarters for the night.

And it was also at that point that Rodimus began to see his second set of parents: Optimus Prime and Elita One. Hardly Mother and Papa anymore. They were soldiers, commanders, warriors. They'd hurt others. They'd been hurt by others. They'd even killed before. Many, many times before. Rodimus found, even as he moved out of birthlinghood, that it was this set of parents that actually scared him. He didn't like how Optimus's spark felt when he reached out to his father; he didn't like the anger, the bloodlust, the hate. It scared him.

He liked feeling those emotions in his mother's spark even less. His kind, gentle, affectionate mother--filled with hate? It made no sense, it didn't work, and Rodimus couldn't stand it. He was prone to becoming sick around battles, and often one his guardians was forced to stay behind on base to watch over the little one.

The one upside was that, once the mission was complete, Rodimus had his real parents back--Mother and Papa. It was between them that Rodimus recharged at night. It was with them that Rodimus felt safe. Not with Optimus Prime and Elita One. With Papa and Mother.

Not that he got much time with them anymore. His parents were busy; constantly, unendingly busy. Upon his birth, they'd consented to move into the large, spacious quarters on the top floor of the base; the same quarters in which they'd bonded. It was there that he was often left alone, for joors at a time, playing with his toys in virtual silence. He got lonely sometimes; it was hard not to. It wasn't easy for any sparkling to be away from his parents for any amount of time.

Especially since Rodimus had been having nightmares lately. Nightmares with huge, thunderous voices, with cold, cruel laughter. Nightmares where something made entire planets come apart, where something actually devoured them. He'd consented to ask a few of his guardians about it. Kup had said he'd never before seen anything like _that_; Springer had asked him if he was on high-grade; Ratchet had taken his internal temperature; Ironhide mentioned that once he'd blown up a planet, and that only scared the sparkling; Jetfire said it wasn't physically possible for a planet to eat another; Chromia had suggested he go back into recharge.

Mother and Papa had seemed worried, however, and since the first nightmare had always made sure at least one of them was able to recharge with him. The nightmares hadn't stopped, by any means, but they were easier to face with Optimus or Elita recharging beside him.

In fact, the only one who had taken a real, genuine _interest _in the dreams was a wandering prodigy by the name of Alpha Trion. Rodimus remembered, very clearly, the first day he had met the wise old mech. Elita had been ecstatic, and had eagerly explained to her son that Trion was an old friend of hers and Papa's. Trion had bent down and very formally shook the sparkling's hand. Though Rodimus couldn't possibly have known it, Trion was deeply moved by the occasion; in his mind, it was as though he were looking upon his grandson.

"_So, little one," Trion said, picking Rodimus up and setting him upon Optimus's desk (ignoring the commander's slight squawk of protest; not because Rodimus wasn't allowed up there, but because Trion saw fit to put whatever he pleased on Prime's desk). "Tell me about these nightmares you've been having."_

_So Rodimus told him. He'd told him every specific detail, and he found that in Trion's presence, he could tell it more vividly than he even remembered it. By the end of his recollection, Optimus and Elita were enraptured as well as Trion, who was frowning slightly. Optimus strode forward and lifted his son into his arms, cradling the sparkling close to his chassis. The affectionate gesture seemed out of place, but Rodimus accepted it nonetheless. He liked being close to his father. He liked the reassuring pulse of his father's spark. _

_He felt safe._

"_Interesting," Trion said simply, nodding slowly. "Hm…very interesting indeed. You had similar dreams, Optimus?"_

"_Just before he was born, yes," Optimus replied, rocking his sparkling. Rodimus blinked; he didn't know his father had been dreaming of the planet-eating monster as well. "His name actually came to me in a dream."_

"_In what context, exactly?"_

_Optimus hesitated, glancing over at his bonded. She shrugged helplessly. All of this supernatural stuff was far beyond her. "I don't recall it very clearly," Optimus said carefully. Lie. He relived that dream every night in his recharge. "I know I heard--it sounded like my voice, actually. _Arise, Rodimus Prime. _Then I think I just heard it repeatedly throughout the rest of the dream, kind of like an echo. But Elita said that I kept sending her the name Rodimus through our bond link, so…"_

"_Interesting," Trion repeated. _

_Rodimus blinked around at the sudden very serious bots, feeling very confused. They kept saying his name. What kind of conversation were they _having_? A bubble of frustration welled within his spark; he hated it when they talked all fast like this. He couldn't understand them yet! _

_Optimus looked down, sensing his son's turmoil, and smiled very slightly. "Are you ready for bed, little one?" he asked gently._

"_No," Rodimus squeaked forcefully, glowering. "Not sleepy."_

"_Are you sure?"_

"_Yes!"_

"_Are you not sure?"_

"_Yes!…Um…no!"_

_Optimus chuckled and slipped the sparkling into Elita's arms. "Lita, could you take him to our quarters? He's tired."_

"_Not sleepy! Not sleepy!" Rodimus insisted, then another, terrifying thought occurred to him. "Nightmares!"_

"_I'll be up in just a moment," Optimus soothed, stroking his child's faceplates. "We'll both recharge with you tonight, alright?"_

"_Nightmares," Rodimus repeated quietly, his optics blinking dolefully out at his father. "Scary."_

_Optimus sighed heavily and turned to Trion. "Would you excuse us?"_

"_Yes, of course," Trion said brightly. "I suppose I'll go bother Ironhide for some spare quarters. Do you suppose he and Chromia would mind moving out for a night?"_

"_They'd move out with some persuasion, but you'd have some trouble getting Catalyst off the berth," Elita said, lifting an optic ridge. "If there's even one thing that child's good at, it's sleeping."_

"_Just like her father," Optimus chuckled. _

_Trion nodded, smiling. "Very well, then. I suppose I'll just have to kick Jazz out. Elita, Optimus--Rodimus," he added, and the sparkling beamed. "Sleep well. All of you."_

"_Bye," Rodimus chirped, waving one little arm over his mother's shoulder as the threesome turned away. _

* * *

**Decagon**

**City Command Center**

"What do you make of it? These dreams?"

"Hey, who knows? Maybe the kid's just got an overactive processor."

"Um, yeah, except for the fact that Optimus had the same dreams."

"Well, maybe Optimus has an overactive processor too."

"My analysis seems to conclude that perhaps Rodimus is suffering from severe stress due to his parents' constant affiliation in the conflict with the Decepticons."

Ultra Magnus sighed heavily and rolled his optics towards the ceiling. "Sure, Perceptor. Whatever you say."

"Hey, I think Perceptor's got a point," Springer chirped. "Maybe Hot Rod's just stressed out."

"You actually understood that?"

"We're not all stupid like you, Magnus."

"Shut up."

Hot Rod had become a favorite topic of conversation in Decagon city command; there honestly wasn't much else to talk about. No one wanted to discuss the war; they lived with it, why bother with it off-shift?

"We should take the little tyke out sometime," Springer suggested, looking over at Kup and Magnus. "Let him have some fun. He must get bored, being cooped up in their living quarters at all hours of the day."

"You can do that one your time, Springer," Magnus replied dryly. "The rest of us kind of have work to do."

"Sure, I'll do it," Springer said, hopping to his feet. "Blaster, mind if I use the communications room?"

"Yeah, go for it."

"…Uh."

"Uh what?"

"Uh the keys?"

"Uh oh yeah…"

The two got up and departed, bickering good-naturedly. Ultra Magnus sighed and almost considering going to get in some recharge when Springer suddenly yelled. Kup and Magnus looked up to see a small pink streak shoot through the command center, shrieking as Blurr shot after it.

"C'mereyalittlesquirt,cometouncleblurrc'merec'mere'cmere--!"

The sparkling hissed in response, climbing on top of a high filing cabinet in an almost feline way.

"C'merekiddonicefemmegoodfemmesweetfemme," Blurr begged, looking up at her dolefully.

"Arcee," Magnus said dangerously, looking up at the little femme. She lowered her self onto the shelf below her perch, peeking down at him endearingly. He lifted one optic ridge, and she whimpered. He shook his head, and with a little hiss she hopped down the shelves and into his waiting arms.

"Thatwasfastrealfastforsure," Blurr said in awe.

"Of course it was fast," Ultra Magnus grumped, struggling to make the sparkling settled down. "She is my daughter, after all."

There was a rather shocked silence, during which both Blurr and Kup stared at their commander, dumb-founded.

"Huh?" Kup finally said stupidly.

Magnus glanced over and them and cocked an optic ridge. "Did I not tell you? You knew Blazer and I had bonded."

"Well, yeah, but…" Kup shook his head weakly. "Primus, looks like Hot Rod's got a new playmate!"

"Are you insane?!" Magnus yelped, instinctively clutching his sparkling closer (Arcee wailed in protest). "Don't get me wrong, of all the respect I have for Optimus and Elita, but…that little Hot Rod is a little bit…um…unruly? Wild? Overactive?"

"He's a feisty one, that's for sure," Kup sighed, reflecting on the many hours of recharge he had lost. "Reminds me a lot of a mechano-cat I picked up once, actually…"

"OhPrimusnoMagnusmakehimstop!" Blurr moaned, covering his receptors.

"Fine! Next time _you_ take in an uncontrollable animal, don't come crying to me for help!" Kup snapped irritably, glaring at his younger subordinate. "Kids these days…"

* * *

"So…between Bumblebee and Catalyst and Rodimus and Arcee and Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, that leaves us with--" 

"Three sparklings, one youngling, and two almost adults," Hound groaned miserably. "Are we getting paid to do this, Bluestreak?"

"Probably not…"

"Quit your whining, you guys, I'm here too!" Jazz grumped, preparing to scowl at Catalyst, but thought better of it, considering whose sparkling she was. He instead scowled at Rodimus, who scowled right back. The little one was a self-appointed independent; all of this sparkling-sitting was a bunch of scrap, in his opinion.

"But don't you think they're kind of cute?" Firestar offered, bending down to watch Bumblebee follow a small mechanical bug of Jetfire's invention.

"Yeah, they're cute _now_," Jazz groused, pushing at Rodimus with one foot. The sparkling released an angry series of clicks, shoving the foot right back. "This one's gonna be competition, I can tell. He's Optimus and Elita's kid, he's gonna be a real femme-magnet, just like his daddy. And then, because of his Elita-ish elements, he's gonna have mechs drooling on him, too."

"That's ridiculous, Jazz," Firestar chided, reaching a hand out to Rodimus. He slapped her five, then turned and stuck his glossa out at Jazz, who returned the gesture with abandon. "Little Hot Rod's all man."

"He's all man _now_," Jazz muttered. "But I got my eyes on you, squirt."

"Hey, why are you worried about Rods stealing the _femmes_?" Hound asked suspiciously, looking up at Jazz. "I thought you and Prowl were--"

Jazz promptly lifted his foot and tilted Hound's chair, toppling the mech to the floor, where Bumblebee and Catalyst eagerly pounced on him. Bluestreak and Firestar looked from one mech to the other, confused.

"You and Prowl are what?" Bluestreak prompted, looking up at Jazz, who scowled.

"Nothing. Just an inside joke. Nothing to worry about," the saboteur said airily, kicking Hound, who grunted.

The doors to the rec room slid open, and Blazer entered, her face as bright and cheerful as always. Rodimus leapt to his feet and stretched out his arms to her, grinning widely. With a laugh she stooped down and swept him up, tickling his stomach plates. He giggled wildly, writhing in her arms.

"Mind if I take him off your hands for you?" she asked lightly, turning to Jazz. "Elita wanted me to pick him up for her, she's on shift right now."

"He's all yours," Jazz said gratefully, sniggering at Hound as the poor mech was assaulted by Bee and Catalyst once more when he tried to stand. "Give my regards to our beloved commanders."

"Will do," Blazer said cheerfully, then turned and exited, still clutching the sparkling in her arms.

Rodimus settled into her embrace, chirping happily at anyone they happened to pass. Ratchet and Ironhide both stopped to say hello, and Springer mocked terror at the sight of the sparkling, but gave Rodimus a high five anyway.

It was only when the twosome continued right on past the command center that Rodimus felt the first hints of confusion. He released a curious warble, looking up at Blazer, who said nothing. The sparkling settled back down, but his confusion came back accompanied by nervousness when they also bypassed Elita's office. He thought he was going to his mother…?

But it was to a very unfamiliar room that Rodimus was carried--a storage room. Storage room 101. He almost wondered if they were playing a game until Blazer commanded the computer to deactivate the lights. Rodimus found himself being set down upon a storage crate. Blinking around in the darkness, struggling to adjust his optics, he squeaked nervously.

"Blazer? Blazer? Where we is?"

A familiar whir as something was un-subspaced. Rodimus felt a thrill of terror; he'd only ever heard that sound when Ironhide was bringing out a weapon.

"Blazer?!"

He felt hot tears in his optics. Where was she? What about going to his mother?

"Mother? Papa?!"

A rough hand abruptly seized his head, tilting it back. He released a cry, his spark churning in his chest. What was going on?! What--

Something sharp jabbed into his main energon line in his neck, and almost immediately his small body went limp. Blazer released the sparkling, and he slid onto his side, his optics flickering in the darkness.

"Papa…" he mumbled, and his vocalizers began to offline. _Papa…Mother…help…_

Sighing, Blazer subspaced the syringe, still partially filled with sedatives stolen from Ratchet's office. The sparkling stared pleadingly up at her, denying, downright refusing to believe that she, who was supposed to be his friend, and his parents' friend, would attack him…would do anything to scare him, to hurt him…

With a whimper, he fell into stasis.

Blazer felt her spark surge within her. Magnus. He was reaching out to her. For the first time, she blocked him out. She couldn't be interrupted. Not now. It was a miracle she had been able to hide her true intentions from her bonded for this long…

She felt the tears but refused to the let them fall. But she wanted to. Very, very badly. She apologized, over and over again, the words ringing in her processor as she waited beside the unconscious sparkling.

_Optimus…Elita…Rodimus…and especially you, Magnus…_

_I'm sorry._

There was a grating sound from above, and she looked up to see Frenzy easing away the grill that led to the vent system. The minibot chirruped and extended his arms, nodding towards the sparkling. Blazer bit her lip--she could still go back, she could still take Rodimus and run, but…No, it was too late for indecision.

"Careful with him," she ordered Frenzy, easing the sparkling into the Decepticon's impatient arms. "Don't hurt him."

Frenzy dragged the little bot into the pipe, then poked his head down at the waiting femme. "Scram," he hissed, and disappeared.

* * *

Optimus glanced up from his desk, frowning at the wall. His spark was racing, and he couldn't figure out the Pit why. He reached out to Elita, and sighed with relief when she returned the gesture, though questioningly, as if asking what was wrong. He delayed in answering, instead reaching out to Rodimus-- 

And reaching out again.

And again.

And finding nothing.

He leapt to his feet and switched on his comm link. "Elita?!"

"What?" she replied, clearly startled. "What's wrong?"

"Rodimus. Rodimus! Can you reach him?"

A pause. She grunted. Another pause. "I…no…"

"Where was he last?!"

"The rec room, with Jazz and Hound and Bluestreak and--meet me down there!"

She didn't need to ask twice. Slamming the release pad, Optimus bolted out of his office and down the hall with shocking speed for one his size. He ignored the worried questions that were thrown at him, even those from Ironhide and Prowl. Not to be put out, the two mechs loyally followed their leader to wherever it was he was going.

"Cravin' high grade?" Ironhide suggested in an undertone as Optimus skidded to a stop outside the rec room, hurriedly hammering in the entrance code. The doors began to slide open, and Ironhide and Prowl both jumped when Optimus reached in and forced them apart with an almighty wrench just as Elita skidded around the corner and nearly mowed them down.

"Optimus? Elita? What's up?" Jazz asked curiously, looking over his shoulder as his panicked commanders forced through the whining doors. "Why so rushed?"

"Rodimus," Optimus gasped, as Elita was trying to catch her breath. "Where is he?!"

"Blazer came in a quarter joor ago. She said you'd called for her," Firestar said, looking over at Elita. "You had, hadn't you?" she added worriedly.

"No!" Elita replied despairingly. Firestar's optics widened.

"Oh no," she breathed. "Oh no, oh no…"

"Magnus!" Optimus yelped into his comm link. "Listen, can you get a hold of Blazer?"

"Actually, I can't," Magnus replied, surprised by his leader's urgency. "I've been trying for the past who knows how many breems, and she's just not responding. Her spark's even been closed off to me. Femmes, huh?"

"Magnus, we need to find her! Now!"

"Why the urgency, Optimus? What's wrong?"

"I can't explain now! Just find her!"

"Okay, okay…it'll take me a while to get over to base, though, I'm kind of busy here."

Optimus very much wanted to tell the city commander to kiss his aft, but as a soldier he had a little more control.

A little.

"Split up," he ordered his shocked companions. "Hound, Bluestreak. Go to the med bay, it's Rodimus's favorite place to hide. Firestar, check all of the femme living luxuries--the cleaning stalls, the lounge, anything. Prowl, get on the intercom and arrange a search. Alert all of the higher ups that we may have a traitor on our hands. Ironhide, make sure the weaponry is locked up and secure. Jazz, check Magnus's quarters. I haven't got much hope there, but it's a start. Make sure all of your special ops teams are on high alert for an attack."

With a hurried chorus of "Yes, sir!"s, the bots in question scattered, leaving Optimus and Elita alone with a very worried sparkling and equally worried youngling. Elita bent down to pick up Catalyst, trying to swallow her fear, when her lover's arms sudden trapped her against his body. She blinked in confusion momentarily, but then her own terror swallowed her whole.

"Optimus," she whispered weakly, feeling the tears well in her optics. "He's…if anything's happened to him, I…"

"He's okay. I'm sure of it," Optimus assured her softly, stroking her back. "He's a tough little mech. Besides, we'd feel it if he were--" he stalled. He couldn't say 'dead.' 'Dead' and 'Rodimus' could not logically be put into the same train of thought. It was impossible. It was inconceivable. His spark wouldn't be able to handle it.

"Come on," he coaxed gently, tilting her chin and wiping the renegade tears from her face. "We'll go search our quarters. We'll search everywhere if we have to. Only for Rodimus, right?"

She smiled slightly and nodded, brushing absently at her cheeks. "Only for Rodimus…"

* * *

Frenzy dumped his cargo at his leader's feet, earning him a hard kick from Barricade. 

"Easy with that!" the larger mech snapped angrily. "He won't do us any good if he's dead!"

"He's not dead," Frenzy replied defensively, but both stilled as Megatron bent down and scooped the sparkling into his arms.

"Hello there, nephew," Megatron said quietly.

And laughed.

. T R A N S M I S S I O N . T E R M I N A T E D .

* * *

**THE END**

**Nah, just kidding. **

**So if there are petro-rabbits and mechano-cats, what are puppies? Techno-dogs?**


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter Twenty Eight**

_Plenoptic_

**Not much to say here, I guess. Funny, I say that every time, and then…never mind. Show of hands, how many of you hate Blazer? Put your hands down, buttheads! As I mentioned to one reader, Blazer is not to be hated, but pitied. Even traitors are not immune to Megatron's wrath…hopefully I'll be able to explain myself in this chapter. If not, please be patient. **

**Think we can make it to three hundred reviews before the story ends? I wonder…**

**I use a sparkling named Moonshadow in here. I realized at the last moment that it was like a remake of Sunshadow from Litahatchee's Night Fire--I swear I wasn't thinking about it at the time!!! I swear there was no intentional copyright infringement of any kind, the name just kind of came to me! Sorry!**

**Oh yeah, two more things to be sorry about...a.) Barricade is a little OOC--okay, freakishly OOC, but deal with it. b.) Optimus acts just a tad bit neurotic. Synonymously, he acts a bit like Prowl. So just deal with that too, okay? I was really tired when I wrote this chapter.**

. B E G I N . T R A N S M I S S I O N.

The general mood on base was best described as panic. Or fear. Or a deadly mixture of both. Either way, there wasn't one bot on base who didn't have anything to do. Prowl had done his duty well; the entire base was on high alert. A few soldiers seemed a little excited; it had been a long time since the Cons had made a hit this close to home. A traitor?

Wonderful.

Optimus Prime and Elita One made it to their top-floor living quarters with a great amount of difficulty. So congested were the hallways that Optimus finally consented to lift his sparkmate into his arms and break into a full out sprint, ignoring her protests at being carried. After toppling a few very confused recruits (Elita felt only the utmost sympathy), he let his lover down at the large staircase, not once pausing before he took the steps three or four at a time. Elita struggled to keep up behind him, wondering where her bonded got all of his energy.

"Rodimus?" the commander called at last, forcing the door to their living quarters open. "Rodimus?!"

Silence. His spark twisted painfully, and he bowed his head, his fists clenching at his side. A very empty entrance hall met his desperate plea.

His son. His precious sparkling, his beloved Rodimus, the one true heir to the Matrix of Leadership--

Gone.

The roar of fury, of grief, that erupted from his chest was heard even on the lower levels of the base.

But the pain in his spark was felt only by the femme who stood at his side.

* * *

Rodimus awoke in a very warm place. That struck him as odd; he'd been expecting to awaken on cold, hard floor, surrounded by the very essence of that which haunted his nightmares.

Instead, he found himself bundled rather snuggly in a bastion of thermal blankets, nestled comfortably upon a recharge berth. He lay still for what seemed like joors, his optics offline, but his receptors functioning at max capacity. Someone was typing at a computer console--it was the same sound that he often heard from Prowl's office as well as his living quarters. Every now and again, someone whispered, but were usually silenced by a harsh "Shut up!"

More than anything else, Rodimus distinctly sensed the presence of a femme. After thinking hard for a moment, he decided that it must have been Blazer. And he had absolutely no desire to see her right now. Had it not been she who had stuck him in the neck with that needle? He had bad memories associated with needles. Once, when his waste tank systems had been plugged with something Sunstreaker had fed him, Ratchet had used a lot of needles.

A _lot._

"Is he awake? Can I play with him? C'mon, wake him up! What's his name?"

"Hush, Moonshadow! Lord Megatron's orders were to allow him to remain unconscious as long as possible!"

"But I wanna play! Wanna play!"

"Go ask Frenzy!"

"Don't wanna! Frenzy sucks!"

Rodimus brought his optics online cautiously. He was turned towards the wall, away from the voices. He was tempted to go back into recharge, or at least pretend to, to avoid confrontation…he didn't want to face what stood behind him.

But he also wanted to know why the Decepticons had a sparkling.

The son of Prime rolled over and sat up, making the room's occupants jump slightly. There were a few Rodimus recognized immediately, mostly due to watching Prowl work. There was Blazer, huddled in the corner, her blue optics watching him dolefully. He saw Barricade, slouched over in a chair. There was a small black sparkling curled on his lap, jabbering away happily. When she looked at Rodimus, he was surprised to see blue optics meet his; he thought all Decepticons had red optics?

Looking around, he picked out many other unidentifiable mechs in the gloom. He wondered briefly why there weren't as many femmes as there were on his parents' base, but could only decide the Decepticons were just weirdoes that way.

"Huh," Barricade snorted, and Rodimus felt a hard, cold hand drag him up by the scruff bar. "You're awake, are you, you little Pit spawn? The son of Prime. Funny. I can hold the future of the Autobots in my hand."

"Don't," Blazer's voice said sharply, and Rodimus was immediately pulled into her arms. "He's a sparkling, Barricade," she said flatly, glaring at her comrade. "You'll hurt him."

"I know that," he snapped in reply, his optics narrowing. "I know how to handle sparklings."

"Then have a little compassion, for once in your Primus-forsaken life," she spat, then turned away and set Rodimus gently back upon the berth--which, he realized, was more of a couch. "I'm sorry, little one," she sighed, reaching to stroke his faceplates, but he cringed away; she was acting too much like his parents. And this femme--the femme who was supposed to be his friend, but had hurt him--was _not_ Mother. Or Papa, for that matter. Blazer seemed to understand, as she instead sank down on a chair opposite him. "Are you alright, Rodimus?"

"No," he squeaked out, his frame trembling slightly. "Papa. Mother."

"I'm sorry," she repeated quietly, bowing her head slightly. "I truly am, Rodimus. I…I just…"

"Shut up, Blazer," a cold voice said nearby, and Rodimus stilled. It was Starscream. A mech who was just stupid enough, just unstable enough, to be nearly as terrifying as Megatron. "There's no need to fill him in on anything. He is just a sparkling, after all. And I don't care whose _spawn_ he is."

The air officer circled around the couch and bent down close to Rodimus's face; the sparkling whimpered and scooted back when one clawed hand reached out and touched his helm.

Starscream smirked. "Son of Optimus Prime or not, this one's smarter, eh? He _knows_ when he should feel afraid."

"Not scared," Rodimus whispered, and the red optics that bore into his narrowed. "Know no fear. Mother said."

Starscream laughed and stood, and Rodimus shuddered. "Yes, well, I'm sure Elita would say something like that. I always was rather…_intrigued_…by her in that manner…"

Barricade scowled slightly, and Blazer glared at the air commander. "You're sick," she snarled angrily. "Elita isn't yours to take."

"Nor are you," Starscream said loftily, grinning, and the femme flinched. "But that didn't stop me, did it?"

"Enough," Barricade growled. "Starscream, you'd do well to mind yourself; Megatron wouldn't be happy if he knew who exactly you were pursuing. And your interface conquest--especially with the bonded of other mechs--really doesn't interest me. Now, don't you have something better to do than sexually assault our little spy here?"

"I have something to do, but it's not better," Starscream replied smoothly, and Blazer shuddered. "But I suppose I'll just be on my merry way now, won't I?"

"I suppose you will," Barricade said coolly, and glared the air commander out. With a sigh, he turned to Blazer. "You didn't tell me he'd been forcing interface upon you."

"I don't think that was any of your concern," she responded flatly, but her voice cracked. "If there was anyone I would have come close to telling, it would have been--"

"Ultra Magnus," Barricade finished. "Who you couldn't tell, because it would mean revealing your true intentions to the Autobots. I understand, alright? It's not my place. But I wouldn't see any femme suffer at _his_ hands."

"It's not like I had a choice," she said, her optics desperate. "Megatron and Starscream had me completely at their disposal…"

"I have to admit, I'm confused there," Barricade said quietly, inching closer to avoid prying receptors. "What did they do to make you turn on Magnus?"

"Arcee," she whispered, clutching the edges of the couch, and Rodimus perked up slightly at hearing his friend's name. "They…they threatened Arcee…"

"Do you want to talk about it?" Barricade asked, his optics gentling as they fell upon the trembling femme. She seemed defenseless--so different from the femme he'd come to know.

But she shook her head. "No. No, it's for me to carry. I got myself into this mess. And, consequently, I got Rodimus in it, too," she added with a sigh, looking over at the sparkling. "Primus help us. Optimus and Elita…they must be worried sick."

Barricade shrugged; he didn't know much about the whole parenting thing. As if on cue, Moonshadow suddenly leapt upon his back, straddling his shoulders.

"Cade! Let's play!"

"For the love of Primus!" he roared, whipping her off and plopping her down next to Rodimus. "Play with the Autobot, for all I care!"

He turned and stomped off, irked, and Moonshadow looked over at her new "playmate."

"Hi," she said brightly, and he started; he'd expected her to hit him or something. "I'm Moonshadow. Who're you? Are you an Autobot?"

He shrugged nervously; he'd never met a sparkling who was this…talkative. Not that he'd met many sparklings in his time, but…he and Arcee never talked like this. The words were too hard. They settled for cheerful warbles and affectionate punches.

Abruptly, tears welled in his optics. He missed Arcee. He missed Kup and Springer and Bee and Catalyst. He missed Mother.

He missed Papa.

Rodimus bowed his head and cried.

* * *

Prowl was asking for time. _Time._ Time they didn't have. But he needed time to organize a proper recon team, then he needed his hit squad, and then they needed to form a plan, and then--

Optimus had regretfully lashed out more harshly than he'd ever meant to. He'd said fine, just do it, and do it fast, and stormed out. He couldn't help it; only Primus knew what was happening to his beloved sparkling, and here he stood, silently fuming in his quarters, pacing nervously. Pacing? Why was he pacing? He _never_ paced. Prowl paced. Optimus Prime did not pace.

Why was he thinking about pacing? Who cared? Seriously, who really gave a slag? Primus, what was he thinking about now? Was he just trying to keep his mad processor preoccupied?

Who _cared_?!

"…Optimus."

He turned, and relief filled his spark as his optics found those of his lover. "Elita," he sighed, moving close and sweeping her into his arms. She embraced him gently, kissing his bare cheek softly.

"Are you alright?" she asked quietly, loosening her grip to stand back and observe him carefully. "Optimus, you look so tired."

"I am," he groaned, leaning forward to rub his lips gently against hers, begging entrance. In the back of her processor, she thought that maybe now wasn't the time to be feeling passionate with her mate, but her spark was implying a more "whatever" kind of vibe. It was true her spark had never hurt as much as it did now, but there was nothing she could do. She could not feel Rodimus's spark, for whatever reason, but she could very clearly feel the spark of the mech pressed against her body, his lips demanding her kiss. With a soft moan she leaned into him, allowing his glossa passage into her mouth to lap hers gently. She felt her back touch the wall behind her, and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders; if he could trap her, she was pulling him down with her.

As was customary of their relationship, their rare private moment was interrupted by the incessant beeping of Optimus's comm link. He drew back from his sparkmate, groaning between his teeth. She stroked his sensitive audio receptor, nodding her encouragement. Catching her hint--_It might be about Rodimus--_he opened up his link channel. Even as he answered the call, he tried to resume their previous activities, snuggling his helm beneath her chin. She giggled and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him close.

"Prime here."

"Optimus?" Prowl's sheepish voice implored nervously.

"That's what I said."

"Um, well, of course." Prowl cleared his throat, and his more pompous manner returned. "Well, you know what I said earlier? About having to round up the recon team and whatnot?"

"Yes," Prime grumped, and Elita laughed quietly.

"About that. I have some very--eager--soldiers down here who have said that we need to frag the recon to all Pit and go rescue your sparkling."

Optimus's exposed faceplates split into a grin. "Ironhide has a gun at your head, doesn't he?"

"Rather."

Prime pulled away from his sparkmate, and so curious was she about the news Prowl had to deliver that she didn't even pout. She rested her chin on his shoulder, close to the radio units installed around his receptors, listening intently.

"So, anyway," Prowl was saying, now sounding somewhat afraid for his life. "If you'd like to drag your overheated aft down to the command center so we can organize our forces…_Don't you point that thing at me!--_Frag it, let's go, Prime!"

Optimus grinned widely. "About fraggin' time."

* * *

The grate slid away with practiced precision, and a very curious Jazz stuck his head into the Decepticons' brig.

"Not here," he reported quietly into his comm link. "Not that we expected them to keep a lil' sparkling in the brig. How's it goin' over there, you guys?"

"Out here, you mean?" Prowl snapped. "Since some of us aren't short enough to crawl around in the air ducts."

"You know what? When I get back there, there will be Pit to pay for that adorable little comment."

"I'll remember that when I remind Optimus to write out the paychecks, too."

"Ooh. Touché."

"Jazz?" Optimus put in, struggling to keep his tone polite. "Could you please focus on your mission? We do have a sparkling at stake here."

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Absolutely, Boss. Sorry about that. I'm on it."

The connection broke, and Optimus sighed deeply. The last time he'd been in Kaon, he'd been rescuing Elita from a bonding with Megatron; now he was rescuing Rodimus, their son, from…from only Primus knew what.

"You can stop squirming, by the way," he whispered at the guard he currently had in a headlock. "Ratchet's put your vocalizer out, and there's no way you're getting away from _me_. I have business with your commander, you see."

The guard thrashed just a little harder. With a sigh, Optimus lifted an optic ridge at Ratchet, who nodded and got to his feet. Two breems and one tranquilizer later, the guard quieted down.

"Good news," Ultra Magnus's soft voice came over the comm link, and both Optimus and Ratchet opened their two-way communications.

"I'm listening," Prime replied, peeking out of his hiding spot. "Next one coming, Ratch…"

Ratchet nodded, making ready for the next guard.

"Ironhide and I…ah…_persuaded_ the guards to give us the key code to the back entrance," Ultra Magnus said brightly. "However, it was a digit off…don't groan, Optimus, Ironhide got the door open."

"Don't tell me you made a ton of noise, Mags."

"…Not _too_ much. Not enough for them to hear us on the top level, that is."

Optimus groaned. "Forget the guards, Ratchet. We need to get in touch with everyone else and tell them to meet up at the back entrance. Ultra Magnus and Ironhide are going to need backup here in about ten klicks."

"I'd approximate that reinforcements will be needed in a range of three to five klicks, judging by the speed of the Decepticon forces that are currently en route to our general vicinity," Perceptor quipped. "However, in the event of--"

"Thank you, Perceptor," Ultra Magnus said dryly. "Just aim and shoot, okay? Don't miss."

"…Yes, of course. As you command, Ultra Magnus, sir."

Optimus inhaled deeply and motioned to Ratchet, and with practiced stealth they crept out from their hiding place behind a parked shuttle and made fast progress towards Kaon's south end, relaying the new plan to the others as they went. Prowl and Springer darted out from a nearby building and silently joined the commander and the medic. Now that they were actually here, in Kaon, the severity of the mission was beginning to wear away. Just get in, grab the kid, get out. It wasn't like last time. They wouldn't be rushing an injured femme from Megatron's fragging recharge berth. They would be pounding apart some Decepticons to get to the sparkling.

At this point in their careers, the latter was so much more favorable.

"Magnus?" Optimus asked quietly, opening a private link with the city commander. "Are you alright?"

"We're doing fine here, actually…just beat off the first wave. But there'll be more--I _think _that's what Perceptor said--so…"

"No, I mean you in particular. Just…about Blazer. Are you…are you doing alright?"

Silence followed, and Optimus swallowed. Perhaps he was hitting a little too close to home. He could only imagine the pain…not that he had ever once worried that Elita would turn on him. The idea was unfathomable. It was impossible. It was so ridiculous it practically bordered on blasphemy.

Of course, Magnus had probably felt the same way.

"I would be alright," Magnus said in a rush of air as he sighed, "if I knew what was going through her processor. If I knew there was a reason--a _valid reason_--for her doing this, then I'd be able to swallow it. If there's a problem, there's a solution, right? But…if she really is just a turncoat…if she went as far as to sparkbond with me to get close to your inner circle, then--"

"She loves you," Optimus blurted out helplessly. His spark ached for his friend. "I can see that, Magnus. There's a perfectly good reason for all of this, I'm sure there is. We just have to get to the bottom of it and…and fix it."

Magnus laughed quietly. "I suppose you're right. Will you help me, Optimus?"

"Of course. You know I will."

"I didn't really doubt it. But it's nice to hear, you know? When the world goes mad, it's hard to tell who you can trust."

"You can trust me, Magnus," Springer piped up cheerfully.

"What the…? Oh, you little spawn of Pit! You hacked a private line!"

"Actually I had Blaster hack it from Autobot City. But yeah, same difference."

"When I get my hands on you--oh, frag! Perceptor, shoot it! Ironhide, _point that thing somewhere else!_"

"Let's hurry," Optimus suggested lightly, opening up his comm link to the rest of his team. "Alright. Elita, Chromia. Where are you?"

"Wait--okay, we're at the back entrance," his sparkmate replied promptly, and he heard the sound of her custom firearm in the background. "Ironhide is obliterating everything in sight, and Chromia is following suit. Ultra Magnus is trying to make them stop while at the same time keep a couple drones from biting his aft off, and Perceptor is--talking."

"Be careful," Optimus said worriedly. "I mean, around Ironhide and Chromia."

"Not around the Decepticons?"

"You can handle them," he replied, smiling. She laughed.

"True. Gotta go, love, little busy here."

"Be there in just a moment."

The battle was not pretty. By the time the rest of the team arrived, the five Autobots were overwhelmed, barely visible amongst a mass of drones. That didn't stop them for a moment, but that wasn't the best tactic at that point.

"Oh, this looks fun," Springer said disdainfully, but leapt in alongside Ultra Magnus anyway. With a deranged sort of whoop Jetfire sprang down from his lookout on the roof and used a few random drones as a landing pad. Ratchet growled something about a messy med bay and followed the excited air commander, and Prowl shouted at them for a moment before giving up and un-subspacing his gun.

Optimus whipped his rifle from his hip holster and proceeded to plow through the sea of drones. It took nearly a breem to reach his sparkmate, by which time the opposing forces had been whittled to half of what they originally were.

"Good work," Optimus told her softly, placing a hand on her hip as he joined she and Chromia (who had begun to regain just a little self control). "You held them off."

"What else did you expect?" Elita laughed. "Anyway, I'm glad to see you guys. I wasn't sure how much longer we could hold them."

"I'm sure you would have done well in the end," he replied, sliding the rifle back into its holster as Ironhide sent the remaining drones scattering. "Looks like we're ready. It's time to get Rodimus back."

. E N D . T R A N S M I S S I O N .

**Sorry about the lameness of this chapter…the next one should be good because I got a major idea…and we'll probably get to see Magnus's confrontation with Blazer. Ooh, suspense! Please review, y'all, and I certainly hope you enjoyed…**


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter Twenty Nine**

_Plenoptic_

**And so we launch into the rescue! We'll also see Magnus's confrontation with Blazer…I wonder what's going to happen…And I wrote Blazer's story…tragic, in its own right.**

**Oh yeah. I got Guitar Hero III for the PC! So happy am I…so I zip through all my homework and go downstairs, hook it up, download it, install it…open the program…! Guitar in hand…! **

**And we don't have a fragging video card.**

**(twitch)**

**Please enjoy, y'all…oh, but I like reviews too. XD I had fun playing around with Perceptor's dialogue in this chapter. I hope I captured him well.**

**VOCAB NOTE: For all intents and purposes, a "newling" is like an infant. Like a sparkling three or less orns old.**

**UBER IMPORTANT: For my own uses, I've separated Soundwave and Shockwave back into two mechs. I wonder if any of you remember my blunder from oh so long ago…eh heh. BTW… "Meteora" was taken from Linkin Park's CD… "Meteora." All credit goes to them. I was trying to think of a name and happened to have the CD case in front of me…**

"**In this world, there are 10 kinds of people--those who understand binary numbers and those who don't."**

. B E G I N . T R A N S M I S S I O N .

"Frag! If Ah see one mo' door--!"

"Chill, Ironhide."

"Yeah, man, cool your jets!"

"Blast down that one!"

"Ah'd like ta see _you_ blow it down!"

"C'mon, Ironhide, use those sexy cannons!"

"Sexy?"

"_Sexy_?"

"Well, yeah…something wrong with that?"

"Just…just stay away from me, Jetfire…"

"Aw, c'mon, you guys…"

"Oh, for the love of Pit," Elita One muttered, narrowing her optics, and without a moment of hesitation calmly blew the door to shrapnel, causing all of the accompanying mechs to leap a good foot into the air.

"Nice shot," Chromia said approvingly, nodding at the sizable hole in the wall. "Was that round live?"

"No, energy based, of course. You think a solid bullet could do _that_? And could we move it along, gentlemen?" the femme commander added, looking imploringly at her sparkmate and company. Ironhide was still gaping at the hole, wondering if _his_ weaponry could do that.

"Elita's right, enough fragging around," Optimus Prime murmured, his hand on the butt of the rifle at his hip holster. His optics darted from corner to corner of the opposing hallway, already on the lookout for Decepticon activity. He hadn't felt this…_bloodthirsty…_since Megatron had taken Elita prisoner within Kaon and tried to force a bonding upon her. Looking back on it, even Optimus had to admit to himself that he had been downright out of control; it had taken Ratchet and a few others combined to calm him down and keep him from literally beating Megatron to death. It had taken the young commander a long time to realize that they weren't, in fact, trying to spare Megatron's life, but trying to keep Optimus from falling to such a level. And now the Autobot commander was glad they had; he couldn't imagine what it must feel like to be beaten to death.

Not that Megatron wouldn't have deserved it. And Primus, did he deserve it _now_. Stealing Optimus's love interest was one thing--at that time, he had been taking a soldier prisoner. But this…this was something completely, utterly different. This was a sparkling--and innocent, pure sparkling, a mech who hadn't yet seen the horror of battle. Not only that, but Rodimus was practically considered royalty by Cybertronian standards; he was the son of the commanders of the Autobot faction. The little tyke had earned himself respect just in being born.

"You guys in?" Jazz quipped over their comm links, and all quickly opened up the channel.

"Yes, we're inside the main headquarters' walls," Prowl replied. "Jazz, where are you? Any trouble as of yet?"

"Well, I haven't poked my head out recently, but I'm pretty sure I'm around Starscream's lab--and holy frag of Primus, I have got some _really_ insane energy readings coming out of the place. It's totally slagged up…wonder if my sensory software is going out…But other than that, I'm okay, haven't been caught yet."

"What appears to be the general nature of your readings?" Perceptor inquired curiously.

"Uh…weird?"

"Please elaborate."

"Um, well…they're sort of…" Jazz broke off, wondering what term he could possibly use to satiate Perceptor. "They're very _erratic_. There appears to be no constant pattern, as is characteristic of an uncontrolled experiment. However, the readout is periodically--but irregularly--off the scale. I can't even get a reading on half of the waves this thing is putting off…whatever it is."

Ultra Magnus and Optimus glanced at each other helplessly, their guns limp at their waists. All of this technical stuff was far beyond them; when did they get to slag some 'Cons?

"Intriguing," Perceptor quipped. "Ultra Magnus and Optimus Prime, I would very much appreciate it if we could delay when we surpass Starscream's lab so that I might inspect whatever phenomena that is a catalyst for the erratic energy readouts."

"…Sure," Ultra Magnus muttered, rolling his optics skyward. "Whatever you want, Perceptor."

"Your compliancy is very much appreciated, sir."

"Can we go now?" Ironhide demanded loudly, and the group relaxed somewhat. There wasn't any science involved in aiming and pulling a trigger.

"Alright, let's get this show on the road," Optimus growled, stroking the butt of his rifle. "Prowl, what's the strategy here?"

"Perceptor, Ultra Magnus, Ratchet, Jetfire and myself are going to tail Jazz and come in wherever he may find Hot Rod," Prowl began in a hurried voice. "Optimus, Ironhide, Elita, and Chromia are going to take an adverse path and scope out the area in case Jazz missed a room or something. You all will have to be ready to come in as backup."

"So, basically, we trash the place until we find Hot Rod?" Chromia summarized, cocking an optic ridge and grinning when Prowl smoldered.

"Yes, that's the general idea," the tactician said stiffly.

"Okay, you heard the mech," Elita said promptly, her mouthplates twitching into a slight smile. "Split up and roll out!"

Optimus glanced at Ultra Magnus's retreating back as his team took off, Jetfire releasing an excited whoop and earning himself a hard whack on the head from Prowl. Frowning beneath his mask, Prime opened up a private comm channel.

"Magnus?"

"Mm?"

"Good luck."

"…Thanks. Seems I might need it."

* * *

Hot Rod sat in utter silence upon Blazer's berth, staring at the floor with still optics. The femme glanced over at the sparkling from her perch on the edge of her desk, and she frowned. He hadn't moved since she'd carried him to her quarters; which was understandable, really.

"Hot Rod?" she asked quietly. He didn't move. She sighed and got to her feet, approaching him cautiously. "Hey, kiddo. I'm sorry, okay?"

After a pause, he looked up slowly, his doleful blue optics meeting hers. "Papa," he said clearly.

Blazer's spark twisted painfully. Ignoring the fact that it was completely against her orders to interact with the child more than was absolutely necessary, she reached out and pulled the sparkling into her arms. Not to her surprise, he immediately began to thrash wildly, squealing in protest.

"No!" he wailed. "No! Mama!"

"Shh, Rodimus," she soothed softly, rocking the sparkling, but the flash tantrum only grew worse. She didn't blame him one bit: he was far from home, being rocked by the femme who had stolen him, hungry, tired…and lonely.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, bowing her head to look down at him. So what if he was ignoring her completely. She had to get this off of her chest. "I'm sorry for everything, Rodimus. I'm sorry that Arcee's living at your expense. At the expense of Elita and Optimus and everyone. And I'm sorry to Ultra Magnus…for keeping this from him, you know?"

The sparkling wailed, tears welling in his small blue optics. Blazer sighed and set him down gently, quelling his cries almost instantly. He scooted to the far end of the recharge berth and curled his tiny frame into a ball, peeking out at her from between his arms.

"You look a lot like Optimus, you know," Blazer said, smiling. "Kup, Ultra Magnus and I found a photocube recently. You liked just like he did when he was a sparkling. You're so cute, Rodimus."

He released a series of annoyed chirps, pressing himself more firmly against the wall, and namely further away from the femme. She smiled, swinging her legs back and forth off the end of the berth.

Rodimus suddenly squealed, drawing her attention back to him. The sparkling was pawing at his chest plates, his blue optics wide with surprise. "Papa!" he squeaked out excitedly, giggling. "Mother!"

Blazer froze, her spark racing. They were here? _Here_? Had Optimus and Elita led their forces _inside Kaon_? Was…

Was Ultra Magnus here as well?

"Papa," Rodimus repeated, looking at Blazer pleadingly. "Go see Papa?"

"No," she said quietly, shaking her head slowly, and he whimpered, pawing at her. "No, Rodimus. I can't. I want to, but…I can't. They'll have to find their own way."

He deflated, slumping onto the berth with a small simper. She reached out to him cautiously, and he allowed her to stroke his helm gently.

"It'll be okay," she said reassuringly, smiling when he glanced back over at her. "I know your parents, Rodimus. And I know how much they love you. They're inside Kaon right now. And can you guess why?

"They're here for you, little one. They're here for you."

* * *

"MWA HA HA HA! THA'S RIGH'! C'MIN GET IT, MOTHAH SLAGGAHS! YA WANT IT?! BRING IT IF YA GOT IT, THA'S RIGH'!"

"Should we stop him?" Elita asked quietly, peeking around the wall behind which they hid. Optimus nervously pulled her back.

"Don't spoil his fun," Chromia chirruped brightly, polishing the barrel of her rifle. "I'll be getting out there myself soon. Care to join us?"

"This isn't exactly a luxury shooting in the range!"

"Oh, I know that. This is much more fun," Chromia replied, grinning wickedly. "Ironhide, love, want some help?" she added into her comm link as Ironhide laughed manically.

"NO WAY! ALL MINE, AH TELL YA!"

"Okay, I'm going in," Chromia sighed, climbing to her feet. "You know it's time to intervene when he starts treating his victims like personal property."

"…Uh-_huh_."

"That's…"

"Uh…"

"Yikes."

"Yeah. Yikes."

Chromia giggled at her commanders' slightly mortified expressions. "Listen, Hide and I can take care of things around here. They can send as many 'Cons as they want. You two need to keep going. Find Rodimus, and let's all get the Pit out of here, huh?"

"I'll second that," Elita agreed vigorously. "Thank you, Chromia."

"Please," Chromia purred, loading her rifle and leaping out from behind the corner. "This is thanks enough!"

Deciding that neither of them had any desire to watch whatever the weapons specialists had in mind, Optimus and Elita departed hastily, the sounds of battle fading behind them as they plunged into Kaon's innermost structures.

"I think we're lost," Optimus suggested after a breem, pausing in their nearly frantic pace. She stopped, turning to look at him, panting slightly.

"We won't gain anything by just standing around," she said testily, placing a hand on her hip. "Let's keep moving, maybe we'll get lucky."

"We don't have enough time for lucky," Optimus argued, frowning at his sparkmate. "Rodimus is depending on us to get this right the first time around."

"Maybe he's on the living floor," Elita suggested, her ridges furrowing in concentration. "Maybe Megatron is hiding him out with one of the officers."

"Possibly," Optimus said reluctantly, though he hated the idea of his sparkling in Starscream or Soundwave's personal quarters. "Let's see if we can find--"

Elita cut him off, holding up one hand, and both listened intently. The previously silent hallway now rang with fast paced footfalls. Elita motioned to her mech, and both darted hurriedly into the shadows of a tall pillar. Optimus peeked around the corner, squinting in the sudden darkness as all of the lights flickered off. Somebody was coming their way…somebody who didn't want to be discovered. The couple focused their audio receptors as a sharp voice hissed loudly.

"Primus, Moonshadow--hold still!"

"Cade? Cade! What's goin' on? Are we bein' attacked? Are ya gonna fight, Cade?"

"No, I'm not! I'm going to get you out of here, just like Megatron said! Now hold still, if there are any Autobots lurking around here--"

"Where's Rodimus? Is he gonna come too?"

Optimus's spark twisted in its chamber, and his hand tightened unconsciously on the handle of his rifle. Elita stifled a gasp as Barricade hurled around the corner, clutching a tiny sparkling to his chest. Curious blue optics peeked out from behind his encompassing arms, and the tiny femme's voice squeaked out over the pounding of his footsteps.

Without warning, Elita leapt from her hiding place, causing Barricade to skid to a stop and Optimus's spark to jolt in panic. However, he had no choice but to join her, angling his rifle at the Decepticon's head. He didn't dare shoot; he couldn't risk hitting the sparkling, no matter to what faction it belonged.

"What the slag are you doing?" he hissed at Elita, his finger twitching threateningly on the trigger of his much loved rifle as Barricade made to move forward. "And don't you move," he added in a raised growl.

"I recognize that femme," Elita replied, not bothering to keep her voice down (Optimus sighed inwardly). "Prowl showed me the report. A few deca-cycles ago, Iacon's second division was raided for its energon supplies and ultimately burned to the ground…a surviving couple put out a missing report on their newling…and were shortly murdered thereafter by Decepticon troops. Isn't that right, Barricade?" she added tauntingly.

Optimus blinked, shocked. "Wait…so…that sparkling in Barricade's arms…she's one of ours?"

"Yup. Essentially."

Barricade retreated a step, his optics wide. "Look, we didn't kidnap her," he snarled. "She was found amongst the rubble of a collapsed building. She was _dying_. What were we to do, leave her to die?"

"Who is 'we', Barricade?" Elita asked softly, her optics narrowing. "Surely Starscream or Shockwave wouldn't hesitate to kill an Autobot, newling or not."

"That's none of your fragging business, femme," Barricade snarled. "It doesn't matter who's responsible; we saved her!"

"If you Decepticons hadn't attacked the second division to begin with, she wouldn't have needed saving!" Elita hissed, her armor swelling slightly. Optimus recognized this sign only too well; far aside from her instincts as a soldier, Elita's 'femme' programming was starting to kick in. That motherly program that gave her the innate desire to protect every young one she came across.

"Alright, listen," Optimus cut in quickly, placing a hand on his sparkmate's shoulder. "Barricade. Return the sparkling to us. She is legally an Autobot, and should be raised as such."

"I've got a better idea," Barricade said coolly. "How about you let us go…and I tell you where to find Rodimus?"

* * *

In hindsight, Ultra Magnus would decide that what he did was stupid and irresponsible and he was messing up his priorities, but--at that moment, he saw no other option. Ignoring Prowl's cries of protest, he bolted from the group, sprinting off in the direction his spark screamed at him. He felt he had a hold on his beloved's spark; a hold he hadn't had in a very long time. As far back as an orn before all this madness had begun, Blazer had felt distant and lonely, unwilling to open her spark to him. Now, he had her in his grasp, and he sure as Pit wasn't about to let go.

He threw himself around a corner and skidded to a stop; he had almost mistaken her in the dim lighting of Kaon's narrow hallways. "Blazer," he called out softly, and she spun around, startled. He saw a tremor run through her red frame, and without a word she turned and bolted. Swearing under his breath, he took off in pursuit; he wasn't built for this kind of physical exertion.

He knew his Blazer was a crafty one. He knew that once she'd seen a building, she slag near had its layout and various functions memorized. She had the upper hand here, and he knew it; but something in his spark forced him on, ordered him not to give up.

_Primus…what about Arcee? How's my sparkling going to feel…_

_If I don't bring her mother home?_

With a burst of energy he hadn't possessed since his younglinghood, Ultra Magnus lurched forward, seizing her small arm as she tried to make a sharp turn. They went down hard, and he hurriedly adjusted his body so as not to crush her. She wound up on her back, faced with a mech hovering over her and a hand around her throat. She stiffened, staring up into his unfathomably blue optics. He was panting slightly, and a grin twitched on his lips.

"You're fast," he murmured.

"If you're going to kill me, just do it," she snapped miserably.

He blinked, and his face contorted in grief. "I could never kill you, Blaze. You know that."

"Then what do you want?!" she exploded. "I'm a traitor, alright?! I always have been! From the very beginning! What do you want, if not a confession?!"

"I want my sparkmate back," he said calmly. "You can't tell me all we had was a show. You can't tell me you eternally bonded your spark to mine just to glean a little more information from me. You can't tell me that every time you said 'I love you' you were lying. Because I'll know if you're telling the truth, Blaze. I always do, right? And besides," he added, smiling slightly. "If I kill you, I'll die as well."

"…I'll tell you, okay?" she sighed, defeated. "I'll tell you everything."

He nodded and stood carefully, extending a hand to her. After a moment's hesitation she took it, allowing him to help her to her feet. "I'm listening," he said politely, inclining his head downwards to gaze at her. "I'm listening."

* * *

"You're in no position to be bargaining," Optimus said harshly, his finger tightening on the trigger. The sparkling's whimper stalled him, and he took a moment to recompose himself. "I can't let you walk, Barricade. But you're welcome to tell me where my son is."

"It's a fair trade," Barricade snapped, one hand inching to the pistol at his waist, unnoticed by the infuriated commanders before him. "Let me get Moonshadow out of here, and I'll tell you where you can find your precious little Rodimus, alright?"

"There's not much harm in letting him go, Optimus," Elita said quietly.

"What about the sparkling?" Optimus hissed angrily, but she shook her head.

"No. He's protecting her. He's watching over her. No matter how she's being raised, at least she's being taken care of. That's all we should care about. And she seems comfortable with him."

Optimus rounded on her, his optics ablaze. "I'm not going to leave a sparkling in Decepticon--"

A single shot from Barricade's pistol rang out, and Optimus felt his arm go numb almost instantaneously. Pain shocked through his circuitry, and he cried out, sinking to his knees. Elita spun on her heel, gun drawn, only to be shoved aside as Barricade rushed past her, knocking the weapon from her hands as he went. She swore loudly as she scrambled to compose herself, but by the time she was armed once more the Decepticon was long gone.

She sighed and dropped her gun, instead kneeling in front of her dazed sparkmate. "Let me see," she said gently, easing his left arm away from its cradled position against his abdomen. He flinched when her fingers ghosted over the exposed, ripped wires and circuits; the armor had all but melted into the underlying protoform. "That was an acidic round," she noted, opening her subspace compartment and withdrawing a small silver capsule. "Wheeljack said they were using them lately, and suggested I keep a store of these on hand…"

"And that is what, exactly?" Optimus asked, eyeing the capsule suspiciously as she opened the cap with some difficulty. He couldn't say he quite trusted anything Wheeljack had spawned.

"A strong base," she replied lightly, tugging his arm closer and pouring said chemical into the open wound. He grunted; it stung, sending tingles up the remaining circuitry in his upper arm. "It'll neutralize any harmful effects the acid may have. Don't you remember your basic chemistry, Optimus?" she added, clearly amused at his reaction. He squirmed as she wound mesh around the injury.

"I remember," he said testily, scowling. "But it's not as if I review it every morning…unlike some scientists."

She laughed quietly, testing the knots in his dressings. "That's part of Wheeljack's job, love. There. Still hurt much?"

"It's numb," he replied, bending at the elbow experimentally. "Does that count?"

"No," she said flatly, and he chuckled.

"No, it's fine. You wouldn't make a bad medic, Elita--and Primus knows you'd be gentler than Ratchet."

"Ironhide would be gentler than Ratchet," she snorted, bemused, helping him to his feet. "Aw, slag. We lost him. That was stupid of you, by the way," she added scathingly. "You took your optics off of him."

"For maybe two klicks," he defended, and she rolled her optics.

"It only takes one to pull a trigger," she reminded him, patting his shoulder. "Come on. We still have to find Rodimus, and now we don't even have a lead."

"We'll find a way," he assured her, quickening his pace to keep up with his suddenly fuming sparkmate. "Sentinel always told me to keep moving forward if I ever lost something. He said never to backtrack, because you've already looked into the past. It's the future that'll keep you guessing."

* * *

"I was created in Iacon, third division," Blazer began, inhaling deeply through her vents. Her back was to the wall, and Ultra Magnus stood not a foot away, his optics scrutinizing her carefully. He said he'd wanted to know everything. And, faced with the mech she loved, she could do nothing other than comply. "My creators were both high ranking politicians. Some even said my father could become one of the youngest High Councilors. He had some very moderate policies, and was constantly promoting peace, much like Optimus does today. Father always spoke so passionately against the rebel movement that Sentinel was fighting…but I guess that's where all the trouble began.

"You see, my father was planning a referendum. He wanted a clean sweep to annihilate the rebel forces, and bring them to justice with as little violence as possible. At that time, the rebels around Iacon weren't completely under Megatron's control, and their aim was to stir up as much anarchy and chaos as possible. Father always told me they had a glitch in their processors or a chip in their sparks to wish for such things.

"Anyway, the rebels hated Father. And at that time, the third was such a small division…they saw no harm in burning down entire neighborhoods to reach him."

Ultra Magnus's optics widened; he hadn't heard about any of this. Nobody had ever mentioned a time when the Decepticons leveled the third division…

"Both of my creators were murdered," Blazer said softly, twisting her hands behind her back. Much to her surprise, Magnus withdrew one from its hiding place and held it in his own. Relaxing a bit, she pressed on. "The third fell under the temporary jurisdiction of a rather small fleet of Decepticons. There were only about ten mechs, but still, an uprising was out of the question; we survivors were simple civilians, not soldiers.

"I hated the rebels. _Hated them_. And with good reason--my creators were all I had. I was born with a weak frame, so I rarely left our home, for fear of being damaged in the road or something…but with my home gone, I ventured out often. The rebels had a sparkling on their makeshift base, and he too liked to wander about. We befriended one another, as he wasn't all that much younger than me. And it was through him that I meant the regiment stationed in the third division.

"They were different from the rebels that had ravaged our home to being with. The soldiers on duty in the third when I met them consisted of three officers and seven or so recruits. And, much to my surprise, they were…_kind_. They welcomed me with open arms. They said they were happy that the sparkling, Iliad, had found a friend. Amongst those soldiers, I felt safe again…I felt like I had a home.

"I grew up around them. I matured, and by the time I had come of age, the rebels had evolved into the Decepticon military faction. I didn't hesitate to enlist; I had foolishly come to the conclusion that since they had formed a kind of society, they must have been different from the gorillas who originally attacked the third.

"But I…I wasn't enlisted into the regiment stationed in Iacon. In fact, that unit was driven out by Autobot forces shortly after my conscription, and half were killed in the resulting battle. I was spark broken. I came to hate the Autobots, and all they stood for…but that's when…I learned the truth, too.

"A vorn or so after the Third Division Regiment was abolished, I went back and did some research. I discovered from one of my superiors, who was a good friend of mine, that the soldiers who had taken me in so long ago weren't really killed by Autobot forces. They were deserters, trying to _join the Autobots_, and Megatron had ordered their immediate destruction. Later, their video journals were discovered…many had said that meeting me, a homeless youngling, had turned them against the Decepticon cause.

"I wanted to run, I wanted to leave the Decepticons far behind. I was disgusted…the mechs I thought represented all that the Decepticons stood for were truly trying to escape to the Autobots. I felt betrayed, like my spark was being ripped in half. But I sat it out. I waited. I wanted to join the Autobots and avenge the mechs who had ultimately raised me…but I didn't want to wind up like they did.

"I began my training both as a technician…and then a spy. As a femme, I was smaller than my competition, and was far more useful on covert or underground missions. My superiors liked me, too…I made a point of making myself popular. I was elevated up through the ranks with startling speed, and I was glad for that…eventually, it would make it much easier for me to desert. As it so happened, Megatron recognized my abilities and placed me on a very special mission.

"I was to infiltrate the Autobot forces and make sure I was in their good graces before the launch of the ALIAH, which his sources had informed him was a ship being prepared for an extreme exploration mission. So I did just that. Frenzy and I worked to corrupt the Autobots' military files, so I was given the false label of a high-rate technician who was ready to transfer from the base in Meteora Arius. I was received well, and Prowl was fast to recommend me for the tech team.

"And the rest is history, I suppose," she sighed, rubbing her suddenly tired optics. "I boarded the ALIAH. The entire journey, I fed Megatron tidbits of false information…even as I fell in love with you. I thought I had escaped them completely after the ALIAH landed…I concocted a false expiration report with my designation and wired it through to the Decepticon files in the place of another.

"I didn't know Megatron still had minibot spies stationed within base. They reported to him that I was alive after they had identified me…it took them an entire vorn to do so, however, so I figured I was truly safe…and didn't see any harm in producing a sparkling with you.

"However, shortly after Arcee's birth…Megatron contacted me. I was to do as he said, just like a vorn ago, and follow his orders before any others…at the risk of Arcee's life."

Ultra Magnus's spark jolted painfully in his chest. "Arcee?" he choked out, speaking for the first time. "He threatened to…to _kill_ her?"

Blazer nodded slowly, the pain evident in her optics. Magnus forced his vents to inhale. His spark was churning below his chestplates, torn by the agony on his sparkmate's face.

"I didn't know," he said quietly, and she laughed quietly.

"Of course you didn't, Magnus. If you had, you would have recruited Ironhide and come storming here to Kaon all by yourself, wouldn't you have?"

He smiled weakly, lifting a hand to caress her face gently. She leaned into his touch with a soft sigh. "You know me too well," he chortled, opening his arms, and she willingly went into his embrace. Blazer buried her face into his chestplates with a soft moan; she'd missed him.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I lied to you. I hid the truth. I betrayed you. I betrayed _everyone_."

"Optimus and Elita will understand," he rumbled reassuringly, rubbing her back. "They've both suffered at Megatron's hands. They'll see your reasons for doing what you did. Sure, it's going to be hard to swallow, and it's not going to lessen the pain one bit--but at least they'll forgive you, right? And I'm sure Hot Rod will, too…in time."

"Hey, I said I was sorry to you as well," she reiterated, poking at his chest gently. "I think I hurt you more than I did anyone else."

"…Yes, Blazer. It _did_ hurt. But only because you weren't letting me share your pain. You don't have to be afraid next time, okay? We can combat anything Megatron is stupid enough to throw at us. I proposed a bonding to you because I wanted to be there to support you…always."

Blazer nodded slowly, enraptured by her sparkmate's words. She didn't remember ever having someone like him. Someone to lean on and be empowered by, someone to cry to and laugh with. She wrapped her small arms around his waist, burying her face into his chest once more.

"Welcome home," he whispered, hugging her close. "But I do have one question."

"Mmm?"

"Where's Hot Rod?"

* * *

Frenzy paused in the hall, chittering wildly at the sparkmate secured to his back to shut the frag up already. Hot Rod, of course, made no attempt at complying; he could sense his parents' sparks. They were _close_. They were in the same _building_. Thus, he screamed. He wailed and sobbed and cried like he never had before. Now that they were here, he wasn't particularly sad, but he had learned long ago that crying got him attention.

"Stupid stupid stupid _sparkling_…!" Frenzy twittered, shaking his frame hard and jostling the sparkling in a rather painful way. "Shut up shut up shut up…!"

"Hey now," a voice said curtly behind him, and the little hacker abruptly found himself swept up by the hind legs. Hot Rod squawked, struggling to free himself. He heard and felt the bonds around himself and the Decepticon snap; Frenzy dropped to the ground, and the sparkling was pulled into a large chest.

"Is that really any way to speak to a sparkling?" Springer asked skeptically, kicking the hacker with one foot. "Get out of here, you little spawn of Pit…take your freakish ideals with you, and give Megatron a kiss for me!"

Frenzy hissed before skittering away, red optics peeking back at the now trembling sparkling in the Triple Changer's massive arms. Springer growled, his optics narrowing, and Frenzy dropped his "tough guy" act and blew into mach speeds, disappearing down the hallway, illuminated by the flickering lights.

"Hey there, lil' buddy," Springer murmured, abruptly sinking onto his aft and hugging Hot Rod close. "Primus…I was so scared. And I don't _get_ scared, you know? I'm the Springster, after all…I don't do scared. But man, you sure had me worried! You okay? Did they hurt ya?"

Hot Rod looked up, right into Springer's unfathomably blue optics. Such a nice change from red. The sparkling squeaked cautiously, touching the larger mech's chest plates. It felt reassuringly warm, wonderfully comfortable…

The tiny bot abruptly burst into nearly hysteric tears, curling into a tight ball and pressing himself against Springer's chassis. The Triple Changer froze momentarily, blinking in surprise, then chuckled to himself and stood, clutching the sparkling close.

"You were scared too, huh?" he asked softly, rubbing the child's back. "Hey now, it's okay. Springer's got ya. I'm gonna take ya back to your mom and dad, okay? It'll all be cool, just you wait. Hey, Ironhide and Chromia were doing some serious damage back there. And Kup was worried too…he'll be happy to see you're still in one piece…see, we thought them Decepticon femmes might have found just as hot as your dad, y'know?"

And Springer chattered, and Hot Rod cried, relieved to finally be on the road home…

. E N D . T R A N S M I S S I O N .

**-.- ugh, sorry about the freakishly long back story for Blazer…however, I needed some reason for Megatron to have picked her out…then I needed a reason for her affiliation with the Cons…then I needed a story prior to that to explain how she found the Cons to begin with…and the whole thing kinda spiraled outta control. I'll try to avoid writing long backgrounds for characters we're just getting to know from now on…Either way, this chapter was really fun to write:D Hope you enjoyed, I lovas reviews…**


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter THIRTY**

_Plenoptic_

**Deleted my entire A/N to encompass this--I AM SO SORRY FOR MY LONG ABSENSE! My brain has been a total fart! Ten trillion million bazillion googolplex thank you's to Litahatchee and optimus prime 007 for beta reading this chapter. Lita even gave me outlines for the next three or so chappies, many of which I may just have to use…and op 007 was kind enough to whack my butt around and demand that I keep writing. She's a love. XD Thanks so much, you two!**

**And now, chapter thirty…AT LAST! Oh yeah…to you TNS fans, be ready for lots of updates! (heart) (That's Things Not Spoken, folks).**

**Special thanks to Phoenix13 for dragging my ego out of the rock under which it hid and beating it with her magical stick of motivation. She ranted at me for a good PM, but it did the trick. Reminded me of Springer and Roddy in her "Serious Intent". (Go read it. Now. Maybe THEN she'll UPDATE!)**

. B E G I N . T R A N S M I S S I O N .

Rodimus was crying. Which, in and of itself, really wasn't so unusual. The poor little sparkling had an affinity for attention, and crying was one of the many ways he opted to get it. In his private moments, Kup dreaded the day when Hot Rod would wise up and begin using other means to gain an audience--like being reckless and shooting down shuttles and outright defying alien judicial systems and engaging Megatron in direct combat, for instance.

Of course, Kup wasn't to know of any of that just yet. For now, Hot Rod's very eventful future would be something for Primus alone to giggle over. And for now, Kup, Springer, Jetfire, Ironhide, Jazz, Ultra Magnus, and Blazer were rather happy just to have the little mech _alive_.

In any case, at that point in time, a very small sparkling--designation Rodimus--was crying. But he wasn't looking for attention. He had all the attention he could ever want. He had two very relieved parents clutching him at the same time, and he had a good portion of Optimus Prime's inner circle standing nearby, suddenly very aware of just how fond they were of the little sparkling.

"Shh, Roddy, it's okay," Elita One cooed softly, and Ironhide and Jetfire exchanged a look; here was an affectionate side of their titanium-hard femme not yet witnessed by public optics. "It's okay, sweetie, it's okay…"

"Springer…thank you," Optimus managed to croak, glancing over at the Triple Changer. "Really…he would have died if you hadn't…"

"Just doing my duty, sir," Springer replied, grinning cockily. "Couldn't help it, really. I like the little tyke too much."

Optimus was about to reply but was instead drawn back to his son, who had begun to bawl loudly for his father's affection. The Autobot commander was only too happy to comply, taking the sparkling into his arms and cradling the little mech against his chest. Elita continued to stroke her child's back; her "angry mama" instincts were starting to kick in. And there would be Pit to pay for the unfortunate Decepticon who was on the receiving action.

See, femmes didn't like you messing with their sparklings. But it was unfortunate that this time, the only outlet for her anger seemed to be a member of her own contingent. Another Autobot. A femme.

Blazer.

Elita didn't have a cold spark. Yes, her desire to protect her own offspring towered above her sense of duty in the most extreme cases, as it did with Chromia and even in the _traitor_, she was sure. And although she wanted to give Blazer every Pit hound that was coming to her, she'd never seen a more broken femme in her life. Blazer was currently standing apart from the rest, so different from the sociable, charismatic young femme who was always eager to make conversation with whomever happened to be nearby. Ultra Magnus stood dutifully at his sparkmate's side, one gentle arm around her waist. The femme was leaning heavily upon him, another characteristic contradictory to her independent nature. She was like Elita in that particular aspect; neither liked having to hold their mech's hand all the time.

Yet there she stood--sparkbroken, wracked with guilt--it was written all over her somber face--and clearly wanting to take it all back. Prior to bringing his femme back amongst the group, Magnus had run ahead and explained to Optimus and Elita the reasoning Blazer had presented to him for her actions. Optimus hadn't yet offered the hand of forgiveness, but he had warned his other men against hostility and clearly stated that he wasn't angry with the femme.

Elita was less compliant. Frankly, she would have loved to have an all out fire fight with the femme who had endangered her sparkling so. But in the corner of her spark that wasn't furious, she understood, was even just a little sympathetic; Blazer, too, had been trying to protect the precious little life she had created. And Elita could hardly argue with a force like Megatron; the thought of the ferocious mech threatening her own son made her spark writhe in fear, though she'd never admit it. Starting at that moment, she was chasing fear out of her spark once more. It had taken hold of her when Rodimus vanished, but now he was safely in their arms. Time to make fear a stranger again.

And all creators always warned their sparklings against talking to strangers.

"I vote we get out of here," Jazz quipped. "Megatron's bound to have caught wind of us by now, and no doubt he'll come stomping down here himself at any moment."

"I agree," Optimus replied, nodding as he shifted his sniffling son into his sparkmate's arms. "Don't let him go," he added softly, and Elita shook her head firmly.

"No. Never."

"Optimus," Blazer choked out as he strode towards she and Magnus, her optics brimming with tears. "Optimus, I…I'm so sorry…I never…I just…Arcee…"

"Blazer," Optimus interrupted quietly, extending a hand to her. "You are an Autobot. You are a trusted member of my inner circle. You were trying to protect that which you loved from that which we fear. I hold you in no contempt. I understand."

She bit her lip, trembling, and reached out to grasp his hand. "Thank you…I'm sorry…"

"Don't be," he said lightly, smiling gently. "However, next time, I hope you hold Ultra Magnus in enough confidence to confide in him what's troubling you, hm?"

She smiled weakly, dropping his hand. She nodded. "Yes…I intend to."

Optimus nodded in return before turning to his own sparkmate, placing his hands squarely on his hips. She stiffened, holding Rodimus closer, and he arched an optic ridge.

"Can you forgive her?" he asked quietly.

Elita shook her head slowly. "Not yet. Not until all is well again."

"All is well now, Lita," he said softly, but she glared at him.

"We're still trapped in this Pit hole, aren't we?"

"Yes, indeed," Starscream's voice purred from the other end of the hallway, and they all turned, raising firearms, only to find themselves faced with a good thirty opposing Decepticons. The Decepticon Air Commander smiled, amused. "Elita One is much more intelligent than that pretty face betrays. You aren't free yet, Optimus Prime."

* * *

Megatron flew down the flights of stairs, his feet virtually soundless upon the hard steel floors. His spark raced with excitement. Optimus Prime. Elita One. The sparkling. All within Kaon this moment, trapped like rats, at his mercy and will…He smirked to himself, shoving a pair of guards out of his way as he raced towards the lower floors. Now…now was as good a time as any…

Why not test out Starscream's little invention?

* * *

"Hey…this looks really not fun," Jetfire muttered, shrinking slightly behind his rifle.

"Please shut up," Jazz said in a slightly pinched voice. He was shaking, but he sure as Pit wasn't going to let these fraggers see it. "We know it's bad, okay?"

Optimus edged in front of Elita, who was still clutching Rodimus tightly to her chest. Their sparkling was whimpering, squirming, his optics wide with terror at the mere sight of Starscream. Ultra Magnus noticed that Blazer was in a similar state, pressing as tightly to him as she could, hiding her face as if hoping Starscream wouldn't notice her.

He did.

"So, this is where our little femme got off to," Starscream chortled, loping forward easily. At a wave of his hand, Ultra Magnus was wrenched from his sparkmate by a good five other mechs, leaving her trembling in Starscream's wake. Magnus vocalizer snarled out words to describe Starscream that were certainly _too_ descriptive for Rodimus's innocent audios (not that Ironhide hadn't already sufficiently corrupted him) but Elita couldn't help but feel that now was not the time to scold him. There were more pressing matters at hand than her son's colorful vocabulary.

Starscream smirked and reached down to hook one clawed hand beneath Blazer's chin, dragging her face upward and closer to his. She quivered, her optics wide with fear. She'd felt this grip too many times…she knew…

The Seeker dragged her against him and locked his mouth against hers, kissing her roughly. A static sort of shock seemed to jolt through the group, but its effects were lost on Ultra Magnus, who immediately erupted.

"Let go of her! Let go of her, you worthless son of a whore! You glitching fragger, don't you _dare touch her_! Get your Pit-fragged hands off of her face! I'll turn your aft inside out, you fragging piss-off! **Let her go, dammit!**"

Starscream pulled his mouth from Blazer's and released her promptly; she fell to her knees, gasping, desperate tears clinging in her optics. Elita felt a pang of sympathy; she remembered how it felt to have another mech intrude upon her. It wasn't nice.

Starscream threw a snort over his shoulder at Blazer's expense before continuing his cocky gait towards the struggling, swearing Ultra Magnus. "You seem so shocked, Autobot," the Seeker sneered, folding his arms over his chest. "Notice that the femme isn't. Would you like to know why?"

"See if I fragging care," Magnus spat, and Starscream smirked.

"You really do have a lovely sparkmate," he said, his voice sour yet honeyed, and Blazer froze; no, no…he wasn't going to tell…? "She's awfully kissable, isn't she?"

Magnus jolted forward, knocking two of his guards down, one hand reaching for Starscream's throat, and at that moment a short blast of laser fire sounded. Optimus watched, shocked, horrified, terrified, as Ultra Magnus hit the ground, golden energon spraying into the air, splattering across Optimus's mask, upon a stunned Blazer.

"…Magnus…?" she whispered, her optics wide and her small frame trembling. "…M-Magnus?"

Optimus breathed again when Magnus grunted and forced himself up onto his elbow, covered in the energon that leaked from the gaping wound in his shoulder. Jazz felt a very distinct nausea bubble in his tanks at the sight. Magnus's shoulder armor had been stripped off, parts of the protoform beneath simply shot from his body. As his optics traveled down the wound, his tanks lurched, and Jazz leaned over and vomited.

Magnus's lower arm now lay just a foot from Blazer's side.

Elita moaned very faintly, swaying, and Optimus tightened his arms around her, his mask dripping with his friend's life fluids. Rodimus was screaming, his cries deafening in the shocked silence. Somewhat steeling herself, Elita helplessly tried to calm him. Prime heard the clack of safety catches behind him, and he glanced over his shoulder, growling at the jittery Decepticon.

"What?" Optimus snapped harshly. "She can't rock a sparkling without you going for a gun?"

"Optimus, be quiet," she whispered urgently, touching his chestplates. When he remained tense, she reached up and took hold of his face, steering his gaze towards their sobbing sparkling. "You're scaring him."

Prime forced himself to relax (he had a distinct feeling the Decepticon did too) and very gently stroked his son's tear-streaked faceplates. "It's alright, little one," he murmured, easing away the tears as they dribbled down Rodimus's chin. "Shh…it's okay, brightspark…I'm here…"

Rodimus put a tiny fist into his mouth and sniffled, his blue optics gazing dolefully up at his father. Optimus would have watched the adorable display for joors had it not been for the rather dangerous situation they were currently in.

"Okay, okay, stop," Springer muttered, his optics glued to Magnus's near-gushing wound. "We don't need to fight this out, right? No need to kill anyone here. Look…we're surrendering. Right?" he added pointedly, looking at Optimus, who gaped back at him.

_Surrender_? Now? After all they'd been through? No…no…surely there was another way, something they could do to--

But he looked around at his men. At his bleeding friend, at the shell-shocked Blazer, at his sparkmate, barely containing her grief. At his sparkling. At his poor, terrified, abused son. His throat tightened. They were beaten. Exhausted, scared, lost, separated from the other half of their unit. Perceptor and Ratchet and Prowl, Chromia…only Primus knew where they were. _Not here_, Optimus thought gratefully.

"Alright," he said quietly, and Elita looked up at him in shock. His spark shrank, ashamed, but there was no going back now. "Have you soldiers lower their weapons, Starscream. We surrender."

Ultra Magnus gaped at him. Elita gaped at him. Springer nodded grimly, Jetfire stared, Jazz blanched. Kup made an odd choking sound.

Only Ironhide saw it. The glint that shone ever so briefly in Optimus's optics. His spark sank, disappointed. He could see what none of the others could in their commander's half hidden face--it was guilt. It was grief. It was indecision and hesitation.

It was dishonor.

Optimus felt it in his spark, felt it writhe and plunge and tear him apart from the inside. Dishonorable, that was all it was. Dishonorable to call for a surrender, let an enemy lower its guard, and then…

He looked once more at Elita. At his sparkmate's beautiful face, now gazing up at him, stricken and confused. He ached to hold her, kiss her, tell her even once more just how much he loved her. What she had done for him, what he could still do for her. But those were feelings he just couldn't put into words. 'I love you' didn't feel right anymore. It wasn't strong enough.

Touching her face for just a moment, he silently swore that he'd have to _make_ them stronger.

But not today.

Today, he was a warrior about to give it all up--

His honor.

He heard Starscream order the weapons to go down. He grimaced at the Seekers' fatal, ridiculous flaw--why had he not taken his hostages' weapons when he had the chance? Optimus's fingers clenched around his rifle. His movement went unnoticed by the Decepticons as their guns lowered cautiously but callously. They were cocky.

Optimus and Ironhide roared into action at the exact same moment. Prime shoved Elita down, sending her and Rodimus toppling to the ground--but they were out of the line of fire. Ironhide's cannons came out screaming for blood, dislodging from their compartments in his forearms and shoulders. With a roar he fired, the dim hallway suddenly lit up like an explosion--which it was. The other Autobots, though completely taken aback, were quick to follow their leader, hitching their weapons up to shoulder height and firing like they'd never fired before.

Elita blinked on the floor, confused by the sudden turn of events. Optimus had lied? Bluffed? Downright lured the enemy into a false sense of security, only to slaughter them now? Sure, it was simple strategy. It was military tactics. And Starscream _had_ forgotten to remove their weapons. But…it didn't feel like her Optimus. Not the bold, honorable mech she'd fallen in love with.

She shook her head hard. What was she doing? This wasn't the time for sentimentality, there was a battle waging just above her head. What did she need to do? What was her purpose here? What--

Rodimus abruptly whimpered, clutching his mother's chestplates. She jumped at the feather-light touch, having forgotten he was beneath her, and thanking Primus for her femme instincts; she had intuitively not landing flat on her stomach. Rodimus would have been crushed.

Her optics softened, and she gently kissed the top of his helm. Rodimus. Hot Rod. All the same sparkling--_her_ sparkling. If she had a purpose in this battle, it was not as a commander, but as Optimus Prime's sparkmate. She had to protect Rodimus, protect her son, her child, her light. But how? How was she supposed to get him to safety in this mess?

She groaned, frustrated with herself. The Decepticons wouldn't be preoccupied forever. Yes, they had been taken unawares by Optimus's tactic, but they were reestablishing their advantage their sheer numbers gave them. They were pouring from all sections of the base, converging on the Autobot force. They wouldn't ignore a floor-bound femme forever.

"You just hold on to me, little one," she murmured, hugging Rodimus tight. "I've got you. I'm right here."

She felt his little head bob up and down, and she smiled. "Don't lose faith, brightspark. Papa will get us out of this. You'll see."

She began to crawl. It made her want to turn around and start shooting. But she was a mother here. No time for recklessness. Not with Rodimus on the line. So she crawled like only a femme with a sparkling clinging to her chest could crawl, sticking close to the wall, staying low, far out of the line of fire. She reached a corner and paused, curling into a ball, clutching her sniffling sparkling close. She felt her own optics prickle with tears. Inhaling deeply, she composed herself. "Don't cry, Rodimus. I told you. Your father will get us out of this! And if not I'll be kicking his aft later, so don't you worry your sweet spark about it. You holding on tight? Okay, here we go. We're gonna go find Mia, okay?"

Rodimus brightened. Mia. Eclipse's mom. He liked her. Maybe this stupid thing wasn't so bad after all.

It started to suck again when Ramjet stepped in front of them.

"Well, well," he sniggered, loving fingering his blaster. "What have we here? Elita One, trying to beat a hasty retreat? Leaving the troops? For shame, Commander. And with a sparkling, no less? How about I take it off of your hands for you so you can go do your duty?"

Elita tensed, whipping her rifle from her hip, but her processor was taking a nosedive into hopelessness. She couldn't fire with Rodimus so close. His tiny body was too fragile, the discharge from even one shot would disrupt his whole system. But frag, if she didn't do something--! She made do with standing and stepping back slowly, trying to tilt her body so Rodimus was better shielded, but it did little good. Her frame was too slight, too small, to guard a sobbing sparkling.

Ramjet smirked and reached out, seizing her upper arm. She would have screamed (screams got some attention, they did) had it not been for the hard hand that closed around her throat, choking her. Ramjet's other hand released her arm to grip the head of her sparkling. Rodimus shrieked, thrashing, only wailing harder when Ramjet's clawed fingers began to dig into his helm. Elita struggled to speak, her vision darkening at the edges. _Not Rodimus…oh Primus no, not Rodimus…_

Ramjet jerked suddenly, his optics widening in shock, and his hands loosened. He hit the floor with a crash like thunder, jostling Elita back to her senses. There was a gaping hole in Ramjet's back, just below his spark chamber. Gunshot wound.

"Come on," Blazer whispered, and Elita's head jerked up to find the femme tugging her along down the hallway, away from the fighting. "I know the layout of the base. We can find Chromia and the others--hurry, Elita, we don't have time…"

Swallowing her shock at her friend's(?) sudden appearance, Elita nodded, hurrying along after Blazer down the dim hallways of the Decepticon base. The light of the firefight died behind them, and after a painful few breems they slowed to a walk, the rest of the base seemingly deserted. Elita paused, leaning against the wall and cradling Rodimus close, attempting to hush his whimpers and cries. Her sparkling was scared, and she didn't blame him, but…Primus, if there was ever a time he needed to be quiet…

"…Is he alright?"

Elita glanced up at Blazer's whispered question. The femme seemed terrified, wracked with guilt, and Elita felt her spark soften just looking at her.

"Yes, he's fine," Elita assured her gently, forcing a smile. "Thanks to you, in any case. You have my gratitude for helping us back there."

"Keep it," Blazer said miserably, sitting down against the wall. "I stole Rodimus to begin with. Saving you was the only way I could even begin to pay you back…"

Sighing, Elita reluctantly sat down beside her, kissing Rodimus's helm. "Please don't let it burden your spark, okay? I understand. You did it to save Arcee…but I think Ultra Magnus would have wanted you to trust him with something like that."

Blazer nodded slowly--and abruptly burst into tears, burying her face in her hands. Stunned for a moment, Elita gathered her wits and wrapped one arm around her sobbing comrade, tugging the femme close. Rodimus seemed to steel himself before reaching out and patting Blazer's helm with one tiny hand--in comfort or in forgiveness or both, Elita couldn't quite tell.

"Come on," Elita murmured gently, nudging Blazer's trembling form. "I know it hurts, but we have to move. Let's find the others, then we can go back and get Magnus and Optimus, alright? Be strong, Blazer, just a bit longer…this'll be over before you know it, don't worry…up we go…"

Still whispering words of encouragement, Elita helped her sniffling friend to her feet and, clutching Rodimus in her arms, retreated further, back towards the boundaries of the Decepticon base…

* * *

"Pull out! PULL OUT, FRAGGIT! Ironhide, move! Jazz, Springer, provide cover fire, Kup, you're in front of me, help Ultra Magnus along--let's move, people, we don't got forever! Let's go!"

With Jetfire nudging them on, the assembled Autobots beat their hasty retreat, backing down the hallway Elita and Blazer had fled down only breems okay, several of them nearly tripping over Ramjet's still form. Jazz, Springer and Optimus brought up the rear, disabling any Decepticon that came too close. A few shouts were heard from the back of the opposing forces, and the Decepticon forces parted abruptly, falling under the shadow of--

"Holy Pit," Jazz gasped. "What in the name of Primus is _that_?"

"Who cares? Looks big, looks like it wants our afts--so shoot!" Springer replied, doing just that.

The approaching monster did not even flinch; Springer's fast shots simply seemed to rebound off of its green and purple armor. It was taller than Optimus, maybe even twice his height, and not even half as friendly. With a low roar it bent over, intense red optics glaring down at them. With a grunt Optimus shoved Jazz and Springer along, nudging them down the hall.

"Go!" he snapped, shoving Jazz into the stunned Triple Changer. "I'll hold them at bay as long as I can! Find Elita, find Rodimus, _protect them_! GO! I'll catch up!"

Jazz shook himself and seized Springer by the arm, dragging his larger friend down the hallway. "You better," he muttered, glancing at the combat-bound commander behind them. "Don't you dare lose here, Optimus…"

And just like that, Prime was alone.

_Setup. This feels like a setup. Megatron planned it this way, overcame us completely…he knew…he knew if it meant life and death for them, I'd stay behind…he knows me too well…_

_But what does he want?_

"Alive!" Starscream was screeching in the background. "Don't forget, Devastator! Lord Megatron wants Prime alive!"

"Devastator, huh?" Optimus muttered, craning his head to take a better look at his monstrous adversary. "Well, we'll have to tangle later…"

And with that, he darted between the behemoth's legs, charging into the throng of shocked Decepticons. For a few precious moments, he seemed unstoppable--gun firing with deadly precision, withdrawn sword a whip of light through the air, his optics bright and blue, absolute fire--

And then, as if in a dream, he felt the sharp, abrupt pain in his back. Blinking down, he was remotely shocked to see the end of an energo-sword protruding from his abdomen…pain clouded his processor, his spark jolted…his vision blurred…

A high voice, cold, sneering, erupted from the darkness that Optimus found himself falling into…

"Welcome back, brother…_welcome back…_"

* * *

**I am sitting here just waiting for all of the hate mail to come. Sorry, guys! I tried, I really did…but I think this'll be enough to get me into the last story arc…and oh, what a story arc it is…**

**Uh, don't hate me…Plenoptic, out! Next update will come sooner. If not, you can all beat me with virtual objects.**

**And Devastator is not Starscream's new invention--that will come later...next chapter-ish.**


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter Thirty-One**

_Plenoptic_

**Honorable mention to **_**optimus prime 007**_**--in the past six months it has taken me to post this chapter, she has written over SEVENTY CHAPTERS for two different stories. Way to go. I'm almost jealous…**

**And special thanks to **_**Phoenix13**_** and **_**Litahatchee**_** for all the support and encouragement they've given me. Phoenix threatened to hurt Oppy in her fics if I didn't make sure Mags was okay (erk) and Litahatchee has very kindly kept writing her freakishly long reviews. They make me feel all tingly inside :D Thanks, babe. **

**Anyway, I was planning on making video credits for this story and putting them on you tube--you know, just a slideshow featuring all of my reviewers--but my movie maker program randomly deleted all the pics I was using. So…I'll work on that…**

**I made a soundtrack for New Beginnings and put it on iTunes. From the homepage, go to Music, iMix, and search "New Beginnings soundtrack" under iMix title. You actually have to PAY for that crap, but I put a lot of thought into it, so please at least take a listen (the Things Not Spoken soundtrack is also up. I like that one better, personally…:D)**

**Please enjoy chapter thirty-one, and don't kill me in my sleep. Please. BTW--"Animus" means 'soul' in Latin :D**

* * *

. B E G I N . T R A N S M I S S I O N .

"There is a certain level of suckishness to being separated from the group," Chromia sighed heavily, sinking down against the wall, her rifle held in her lap. "Where are we?"

"My scans indicate that we are positioned in the lower most levels of Kaon," Perceptor quipped easily (Chromia spared a moment to wonder why they'd even brought him along). "I do not, however, detect the energy signatures of our wayward comrades anywhere nearby."

"You mean they got out?" Ratchet asked gruffly, drawing his knees closer to his chest in his corner; storage closets were just not fun for mechs his size. "They ditched us?"

"Stop that," Prowl snapped immediately, his optics flaring. "They would never _ditch_ us. They must have met a tactical problem and pulled out to regroup later. I'm sure Optimus will figure something out."

"…Negative," Perceptor said after a moment. "Further scans reveal that Optimus Prime is still within the vicinity."

Ratchet started. "Huh? He's still here?"

"He couldn't have gotten left behind," Chromia said immediately, jumping to her feet. "Elita and Ironhide would never leave him. Ever. He must have stayed behind himself, or maybe Perceptor's scans are glitching…"

"She's right," Prowl agreed grimly. "If the troops were overwhelmed, Optimus probably told them to go ahead while he held the Decepticons off. Reckless and hardheaded, not to mention idiotic, but it's just the sort of thing Optimus would do."

"They must have gotten Rodimus back," Ratchet mused, rubbing his chin and frowning. "Elita may have retreated on Optimus's orders, but she wouldn't just take off without the kiddo. Either way, I think it's safe to say that Optimus is in a bad spot. Probably needs a rescue team, and it doesn't seem as if the others are in any position to help."

"Neither are we," Chromia retorted, arching an optic ridge and gesturing to their surroundings. "We're holed up in a storage closet, Ratch. We need a rescue team, too."

"Maybe," Ratchet shrugged, craning his head to peek into a storage container close to him. He grinned. "Or maybe we can be our own."

"Huh?"

Still smirking proudly, Ratchet reached into the container and brought forth several cans of paint. "Anyone up for a new paint job?"

* * *

He'd been afraid of having a sparkling, initially. He was afraid it would hurt his relationship with his sparkmate. He assumed that he'd have to divide his love, that he'd have trouble balancing his mate with his child. He'd been anxious and terrified that he'd neglect one, and he couldn't bear the thought of hurting either precious spark.

But from the moment Rodimus had come into the world, he knew he was wrong. From the instant those tiny blue optics blinked up at him, Optimus felt his spark swell to epic proportions. He hadn't had to push aside other feelings to make room for the sparkling; Rodimus, like Elita, simply became a part of Optimus, irrevocably and wonderfully. There were two different types of love, for sure, but his spark was by no means divided. On the contrary, it felt more whole.

His entire world consisted of his sparkmate and his son. He needed both; he wasn't complete without each of them in his arms. Rodimus was the most perfect thing in the universe, the greatest gift he'd ever been given (next to his Elita, of course, and if hadn't been for her Rodimus wouldn't have even existed). Optimus didn't think it was possible to love as much as he did…

He blinked his optics open tiredly. The cell was dark, save for the tiny shaft of light filtering in from the crack in the opposite wall. His shoulders were aching; his hands were cuffed behind his back with maximum security restraints. He tugged lightly and smiled slightly; they weren't as strong as the ones Elita used on him when she was annoyed with him. Amongst other reasons. He and Elita wanted a fulfilling intimate experience more than the Decepticons wanted to keep him captive; Optimus took a lot of comfort from that.

He craned his head and frowned upon seeing that his legs were cuffed as well, at the ankles. Huh. How inconvenient. Someone had at least welded the wound in his abdomen. That was courteous of them.

"I do find it hard to believe that you've left me unguarded," he said loudly; his vocalizer didn't sound so hot. How long had he been out? He _did_ feel a bit groggy…he didn't dare try to stand.

He heard the scrape of chair, and if he squinted his optics, he could just make out Barricade poking his head around the corner to peer into the cell. "Awake, are you? Surprising, considering all the sedatives Screamer pumped into you. I told him you needed more. Bet Nightwing would've gotten the proper dosage…"

"Hello, Barricade," Optimus said softly, sadly; he'd always liked the mech. He'd been shocked to see Barricade follow Megatron when the rebellion reached its fever pitch. "Nightwing? Have the Decepticons begun using femmes for reasons other than as sex slaves?"

Barricade didn't respond for a moment, but then stood slowly, turned off the plasma barrier over the cell, opened the door, and promptly punched Optimus across the face. Prime's head snapped to the side; not out of surprise or pain, but because only an idiot would try to play the tough bot and actually take the punch. Barricade scowled and stepped back, locking up the cell once more, clearly not satisfied. Optimus lifted his head once more, rotating his jaw.

"Ironhide's hit me harder."

Barricade gave him one cold glare before sitting down outside the cell once more, out of Optimus's line of sight.

"Nightwing is the medic, then?" Optimus pressed curiously.

"Yeah," Barricade grunted. "Kind of. She's not licensed or anything. But Screamer's killing bots with his treatments. Megatron didn't want Nightwing doing it, but she's been taking care of casualties on the battlefield behind his back."

Optimus blinked. "This room isn't rigged for sound? It can't be, if you're telling me all this. Unless you _want_ this Nightwing to suffer Megatron's--"

"Of course it's not rigged," Barricade snarled. "Soundwave turns on the audio for the torture sessions only. Megatron doesn't want to listen to your pompous tone for all joors of the day and night, he'd go mad."

"…Um. Thank you. That's very reassuring."

There was only silence for awhile; Optimus found himself frequently gazing at the crack in the wall, that one shaft of light. His light. Had the others gotten out safely? Had they found their other comrades? Chromia, Perceptor, Ratchet, Prowl…where were they? Were Rodimus and Elita back at base? Was she worried? Scared? His spark twisted painfully--was she crying?

* * *

"We're going back!"

"Of course we are. Just not right now."

"Yes we are! We're going back! Now!"

"Elita, please--be reasonable--"

"Be _reasonable_?! I am being _reasonable_! You're the ones who are just sitting on your afts while Optimus is in who knows what sort of hell--do you think they give their captives high grade and energon goodies?! I have news for you!"

"We know tha', 'Lita, we know…"

"Then get your noseplate out of your butt! We've got to go back!"

"You're scaring Rodimus…"

"Not to mention that Chromia and Perceptor and Prowl and _Ratchet_ are still in there! How the Pit are we supposed to save Magnus's arm without a medic?! Never mind the arm, what about his life?! If he dies, Blazer dies too! You want to orphan Arcee?!"

"We _will_ go back, okay? We've just got to figure this out--"

"_There's no fragging time_!"

"Lita, we've gotta _make_ time…"

"You're all scaring Rodimus…"

"Kup, Ironhide, _listen to me for two fragging astroseconds!_"

"Look, Elita, we understand where you're coming from, but we need to sit down and think about this logically, in an unbiased way--"

"Unbiased? _Unbiased?!_ Optimus is my _sparkmate_! If we don't save him, I'll die too! If we don't save the others, you'll be down both commanders, the second in command, a scientist, your chief medic, and when Chromia dies you'll lose Ironhide as well--"

"YOU'RE SCARING RODIMUS!" Springer roared, and the various mechs and femme in the room turned to him immediately.

The sparkling was peeping over the green Triple Changer's arm, small blue optics wide and teary, one tiny fist in his mouth, sniffling quietly. Why was his mom so mad? And where…? "Papa," he begged in a whimper, and every spark in the room turned to ice. Rodimus sobbed quietly, wilting on Springer's arm. Where was Papa? Where was that immense, safe spark, the warm arms that rocked him to sleep at night? What had happened to the deep, soothing voice that occasionally sang to him softly, the mouthplates that kissed his helm gently, the astonishing blue optics that watched him as he drifted into recharge?

Where was his father?

Kup inhaled deeply, turning his gaze to the ceiling; Ironhide, in contrast, stared at his feet. Only Elita took the initiative, forcing herself to calm her racing spark and moving forward to lift her son into her arms.

"Papa's fine, Roddy," she whispered somewhat desperately, clutching the sparkling close. She shuttered her optics tight, praying she wasn't lying. "Papa's going to be just fine, brightspark." Elita turned to the others, blue optics burning in the dim light of the meeting room. "Well?" she demanded, her voice shaking. "Well? What do we do?"

There was a silence; not one of them had any idea. Prowl was usually the brains behind this sort of thing, and Optimus was the fuel for the fire. The haggard little group had made it back to base, at least, courtesy of Wheeljack; the scientist had flown a shuttle out to pick them up from Kaon, after they'd forced their way through the outer guard. It hadn't been all too difficult; most of Megatron's troops were within the mushroom-shaped military complex, busily subduing Optimus Prime. And Elita made a good point; four very essential members of the team were still trapped in Kaon.

"As long as Chromia and all of them are there," Springer began, chewing nervously on his lower lip, "can't we contact them? See if they can help Optimus?"

"No good," Jetfire replied, shaking his head briskly. "Soundwave would detect a breach like that in a second. I don't think comm links are an option."

"Prowl might figure it out," Moonracer (having joined the group upon hearing that Ratchet was captive) piped up.

"Doesn' take ah genius like Prowl," Ironhide growled. "Perceptah coulda figured it ou' with ah scan or two."

"Okay, so they probably know Optimus is still there," Elita summarized somewhat snappishly, feeling that the conversation was going nowhere. "But how do we get them all out?"

Another long silence. Elita narrowed her optics against the tears, dipping her head to touch her foreplate to the back of Rodimus's helm. There had to be something they could do. _Something_. Anything was better than sitting around wondering if the others were even alive.

The blast doors opened, heralding a very tired-looking Red Alert, followed by an equally exhausted First Aid. All heads snapped up instantly.

"Hey," Jetfire blurted, his optics blinking rapidly. "How's--?"

"I stopped the bleeding," Red Alert said wearily, dropping his aft into the nearest chair and tiredly rubbing his helm. "I don't have the skills to reattach his arm. Nice thinking, Springer, grabbing it on the way out."

Springer forced a worn smile. "Someone had to do it. I smacked a 'Con with it, actually. Think he was more shocked than anything, but whatever. It worked."

A faint chuckle passed through the room; even Elita's mouthplates twitched. The thought of Springer running about, flinging a severed arm at his enemies was amusing to say the least. Especially when all of their processors were running on zero energy; Rodimus could have farted and they all might have burst into hysterics.

"I think we need to rest," Kup announced, rubbing the bridge of his nasalplates. "It's…been a long orn. Get in some recharge, and then we can start fresh in about a joor. Agreed?"

There was a murmur of consent. Elita nodded reluctantly, pulling her sparkling close. Rodimus chirped, his head drooping wearily. His had been the craziest orn of all. He was ready for recharge.

"Papa?" he inquired sleepily, snuggling down as Elita left the room, making for their quarters.

"Not tonight, Roddy," she murmured, shaking her head slightly. "Soon, though. I promise you. Soon."

* * *

A squeak, a click, a bleep. Tiny hands prodding his frame. A larger, warmer hand on his face, stroking the metal adoringly. Warm lips descending to kiss his gently.

Ultra Magnus didn't online all at once. He ran scans, tested his body, jerking his fingers and massive feet, twitching his knees and jerking his…arm.

"I'm down a limb," he muttered, and Blazer yelped in surprise, nearly dropping Arcee. Magnus cracked open an optic and grinned at his startled sparkmate. "You okay, sweetspark?"

"You're a jerk," she grumbled, but her optics softened, and she placed a hand behind his back as he sat up. He glanced down at his maimed limb and groaned.

"Please tell me someone picked it up."

Blazer bit out a short laugh, nuzzling his cheekplates with her own. "Yes, of course."

"Red Alert couldn't get it reattached, though?"

Blazer frowned uncomfortably. "Ratch'll be able to fix it. Don't worry."

Magnus shuttered his optics, leaning his head against the wall. "But I am." His optics flickered on, and he looked purposefully at his sparkmate. "Blaze. Starscream kissed you."

Her spark tightened, and she clenched her jaw, redirecting her gaze to their daughter. Arcee was curled up against her father's side, gentle blue optics flickering off and on in the dim lighting. Her tiny faceplates scrunched into a yawn, and after a long few moments she drifted off into recharge.

Blazer trembled upon feeling a strong hand come up to grasp her chin, and Magnus turned her face toward his. "Blazer," he said quietly, firmly, optics burning into hers. So much passion. So much fear and concern and…_love_. "Blazer. What did he do to you?"

She was silent for the longest time. Staring at him, blue optics searching blue optics for answers to unasked questions. Her vision blurred, and her throat tightened.

"I-I…he…"

"Yes?" Magnus prompted, but despite his firm manner, his remaining hand lifted to caress the side of her face gently.

"I didn't _want_ to," Blazer bit out, dropping her gaze from her mate's, only to have her chin lifted again a nanosecond later. "The same way I didn't want to hurt Rodimus. I didn't _want_…" she sniffled, taking a hold of his hand. "Interface…he…he corrupted…"

Dark fury flashed across Magnus's blue optics, a low snarl leaving his vocalizers, and Arcee stirred uncomfortably. "He touched you?" Magnus growled, optics narrowing, becoming white. White in a way that was better suited to red. "He _touched you? _Blazer, he…_connected…_with _you_?"

"Corrupted me," she corrected in a choking sort of sob, shaking her head slightly. "I'm sorry…"

Magnus stared at her for a moment, watching sadly as she lowered her head into her hands to sob freely into her palms. "Blaze," he murmured, lifting his hand to stroke her helm. "Blazer…don't cry. Shh, beloved, don't cry…"

His arm drew her in, cradling her close, warm mouthplates brushing against her cheek. "Blazer. Nothing can corrupt you. Nothing can…_taint_ you. Not even scum like Starscream. Nothing so pure, so powerful as you, could ever possibly be soiled by the likes of _him_."

Blazer lifted her head, finding his optics, searching his gaze. "…What?"

Magnus smiled, running a thumb down her jaw line, holding her close. "Don't you realize? Just how perfect you are? So pure, so beautiful…Blazer, you might as well be invincible. Just because…" suddenly his optics colored with pain, and he drew her closer yet. "Just because that _bastard_--that absolute _scum of the universe_--touched you, doesn't mean I'm going to love you any less. It doesn't mean you're any less _mine_." He smiled, kissing her softly. "Blazer…I love you. I couldn't protect you, but…you've got a fire that can't be doused by slime like Starscream."

He wiped the tears from her faceplates, leaning in to kiss her again--deeper, more passionately. "Invincible," he whispered, lips moving against hers. "My Blazer isn't any less pure…"

* * *

Optimus groaned. His arms really were beginning to ache. It didn't help that Thundercracker had come in and had fun kicking the commander (against orders, but Starscream wasn't going to complain if beating prisoners was the sort of stuff TC was up to). After a few moments of struggling, Optimus managed to right himself, sitting up on his aft with his legs out in front of him. Sighing, he leaned against the cell wall, wincing at his helm throbbed painfully. He'd been delivered a punch to the jaw that he left his whole head rattling, a kick to the abdomen that made him want to purge his tanks.

The commander sighed again, hanging his head. He should have known Megatron wouldn't just kill him and get it over with. Not that he wanted to die--if he went, Elita would go too, and there was a good chance a bot as young as Roddy would follow--but he didn't want his pain echoing in Elita's spark. She was probably worried…

He tried reaching out to her for the thousandth time, but it was no good. They were too far apart, their own spark signatures masked by those of the hundreds of bots around them. Optimus was surrounded by Decepticons: dark, evil beings with cold sparks. Elita wouldn't be able to feel him through all _that_.

"You awake?"

Optimus lifted his head at the sound of Barricade's voice, optics narrowing in the darkness of the prison hold. "Yes, I am. And, at the risk of being hit again, I would like to apologize for my comments earlier."

"Which were…?"

"About Decepticon femmes? You spoke of this Nightwing so fondly; she must be important to you."

Barricade said nothing for a time. Optimus craned to see his captor, but he could barely make out the Decepticon with so little light.

"How's the kid?"

"Huh?"

"Rodimus," Barricade said flatly, glancing over his shoulder at the weary Autobot. "They get him out okay?"

"Oh, well, if they got out, so did he, I suppose…Elita would sooner lose both her arms than let go," Optimus replied, a touch of amusement in his voice, but then his spark went cold. _Magnus_. Magnus! The mech had lost an arm--was he alright?

"Listen."

"What?"

"Some of your boys are still on base," Barricade said, lowering his voice, and Optimus stiffened. Chromia, Perceptor, Prowl, and Ratchet. They hadn't met up with the others? "You know who I'm talking about?"

"I think so," Optimus said slowly, wondering just how much he should reveal. It could have been a setup, and Barricade wasn't altogether trustworthy to begin with.

"…Nn." Barricade fell silent, leaving the commander alone with his own anxious thoughts.

If Ratchet was still in Kaon, and Magnus was back on base…who was going to replace his arm? If they waited too long, could it even be replaced? He knew Red Alert and First Aid were capable of basic treatments, and even Jetfire, being a scientist, might have been able to lend a hand, but Optimus had only ever seen Ratchet perform really major surgery. Especially when it came to putting body parts back on. Optimus could sort of see how it would be a rare medical art; Cybertronian weapons weren't built to just break things.

"Are you bonded to her?"

Barricade grunted; he'd been moments away from recharge. "Who?"

"Nightwing."

There was a long silence, after which Barricade cleared his throat nervously. "We--"

The doors to the prison hold flew open, and Barricade looked up to see, much to his disgust, Thundercracker and Demolisher tromp in, both snickering and wobbling unsteadily.

"You're drunk," Barricade observed flatly, arching an optic ridge. "Get out of here, you two, this is a restricted zone."

Demolisher sniggered, leaning on his companion's shoulder. His misshapen optics couldn't seem to focus on Barricade properly. "Aw, c'mon, 'Cade…just a bit of harmless fun, ya know? Been chasing Autocrap all over base today, I need a break. And TC here got in earlier…"

"Starscream seemed to have failed to mention that doing so was strictly against our orders," Barricade replied coolly. "As always, it's up to me to enforce the rules around here. Now get out."

Demolisher's ugly faceplates slid into a pout. "Don't wanna."

Barricade sighed in frustration, climbing to his feet and glancing over his shoulder at their prisoner. Optimus's faceplates, though masked, were obviously pulled into a look of distaste; he didn't much like Demolisher (well, he didn't much like any of the Decepticons, but Demolisher was hard to like regardless of whose side one was on). Barricade turned back to his "comrades," his faceplates darkening.

"Scram, you two. Now."

Demolisher cracked a fist. "I just said I don't want to."

Barricade's optics flashed dangerously. He wasn't one of the more outwardly aggressive Decepticons (he preferred picking off bots subtly rather than slaughtering his way through the front lines), but he was not the bot to pick a fight with nevertheless. Autobots were a bit unsatisfactory, but his fellow Decepticons just had the most kickable afts.

Yet the enforcing officer couldn't help but feel that this was just a bit deeper than annoyance. He'd joined the Decepticons because it sounded like more fun than hanging around the Autobot base, protecting a bunch of irritating, whiny civilians. But he hadn't switched sides because of any grudge against Optimus Prime. In the days preceding the war, the mighty commander had always been good to him, respectful of him, even helped him out of a few tricky situations. Barricade wasn't one for betraying his honor…

"Either you two get out of here or I go straight to Megatron," Barricade growled, his long, silver rifle materializing from his subspace. "He wants Prime to himself, remember?"

_Thanks_, Optimus thought darkly, but he couldn't help but be grateful to Barricade. He really didn't want Demolisher and Thundercracker beating on him.

There was a long, strained silence, the two opposing Decepticons looking tentatively at the impressive nose of Barricade's weapon. Optimus managed to use the wall to push himself to his feet; if they incapacitated Barricade, he was prepared to kick some major…crotch.

It turned out that there was no need. With a few reluctant grumbles, the duo turned spitefully and departed, tossing glares over their shoulders at Barricade, who merely growled and hoisted his weapon a bit higher. The enforcement officer waited until the door had shut behind him before sighing and lowering his weapon.

"So," he said, turning back to Optimus and grinning slightly. "I take it you were just grumpy when you spoke badly of my sparkmate?"

* * *

"WHY DO I HAVE TO TAKE HIM WITH ME?!"

"Because this is a stealth mission, Jetfire, and to be honest, a huge white shuttle is going to attract just a bit of attention."

"Just a bit?"

"Get off the line, Jazz…"

"I'M NOT BABYSITTING SOME YOUNGLING!"

"I'm _not_ a youngling!"

"Hotshot, you get off the line too! This doesn't concern you…well, it does, but it's not as if you have any say in it…"

"I'm going!"

"LIKE PIT YOU ARE!"

"Jetfire, please just cooperate."

"HELL NO!"

Elita, growling, turned on her own internal communicator, leaping into the conversation before Jetfire could sign off. "Jetfire? If you don't take Hotshot with you, I will personally inform that femme you've been seeing that you are, in fact, a bisexual, and have been sleeping with Ironhide behind her back."

"…You wouldn't."

"Try me."

There was a long silence, during which Kup and an offended Ironhide stared at the femme commander, and then the rush of a static sigh heralded Jetfire's defeat.

"Yeah, okay. I'll take the kid with me."

"Good," Elita said, pleased, and turned off her communicator. "Now then. Jetfire will be able to get Jazz and Hotshot close enough to Kaon to begin reconnaissance. Again. Hopefully they can hotwire the place and get us into contact with Prowl so we can start planning our next move. Are they Aerialbots ready to go in as a retrieval slash rescue force if needed?"

"Yup," Ironhide replied gruffly. "And, just for the record, if Ah were havin' an affair with ah mech, it _wouldn'_ be Jetfire."

"I know," Elita said quicky, clearly amused. "But others would expect that sort of thing from Jet."

"So we have recon going in," Kup summarized, pulling them back on-topic. "Now what?"

"Now we wait," Elita sighed, sitting down in a chair and bringing her knees up to her chin, wrapping her arms around her legs. "We try to contact the four still inside, and see if they can somehow get to Optimus."

"The place is still swarming with Decepticons, though," Kup reminded her gently, sitting at her side. "We might not stand a chance if we go in to back them up. It'll be a repeat of Roddy's rescue, you know?"

"So?" Ironhide groused, flopping down at Elita's other side. "Don' mattah. We get 'em back, no mattah wha'."

"Uh, yes, a question," Kup sniffed, scowling at Ironhide. "Why aren't you a destructive demon right now?"

Ironhide shrugged. "Injected mahself with ah sedative."

Elita and Kup both stared at him, slack-jawed, optics wide. Ironhide stared uncomfortably back, shifting around in his seat.

"How much?" Elita asked weakly.

The weapons specialist shrugged. "Er, two o' three syringes…it wasn't workin', ya see, Ah still felt the need to rip somethin' apart, so…um…"

One small feminine hand abruptly slapped him across the face; he jerked back, clutching his stinging cheekplates. "Elita?!"

"You--MORON!" she snarled, hitting him again, and he yelped, edging his chair away from hers. "You're some kind of _idiot,_ you know that?! Those are lethal dosages, you Pit-brain, if it you were anyone other than _you_ you'd be dead right now! What would Chromia do if you went and died?!"

"S..Sorry," Ironhide stammered out, his dark optics taking up a good half of his face. "Sorry, Lita, Ah just…Primus…"

The femme commander bit her lower lip before lowering her optics to the ground. "…No. No, I'm sorry, Ironhide. I shouldn't have hit you…" She reached out to gently touch his cheekplate, and her spark ached. She wanted her Optimus back. "I can't do this without you. We don't have Prowl, we don't have Ratchet, frag, we don't even have Perceptor."

"So?" Kup asked flatly, but she ignored him.

"Don' worry," Ironhide reassured her, cocking a lopsided grin. "Secretly, Ah'm as big a genius as Prowl."

She arched an optic ridge wordlessly, and he chuckled, rubbing the backs of his fingers against her smooth cheekplate. "Relax, babe. We'll get 'em back. All of 'em. Safe and sound."

"Promise?"

He smiled, his optics twinkling at her. "Promise."

* * *

Barricade shuddered at the scream of anguish that rang through the prison cells. He kept his feet firmly planted, his waste tanks in check, and his optics straight forward. He felt torn, torn between wanting to look and never wanting to turn his head. He wanted to see--so badly--so that he could relay the whole thing to his sparkmate later, so they could lament together about just how far Megatron would really sink, but…Barricade couldn't even begin to imagine how seeing the victim would affect him. The blue optics, filled with agony and rage, the strong body, torn and beaten and nearly destroyed, the legendary mouth opened wide in a shriek of pain.

The officer grimaced. No, he couldn't bear to look. The sight of a tortured Optimus Prime would haunt his recharge for eons if he did.

Another scream--equally as tormented, but weaker. It faded off at the end. Barricade couldn't turn around. Partly because he knew his own symbiote was having the time of his little life, ripping wiring out of Prime's mighty frame at random intervals, linking up with Prime's cranial interface and plowing through the commander's memories.

"Oohooh_oooh,_" Frenzy twittered excitedly, bringing up a memory file into both his and Prime's vision. His spindly little fingers were connected directly to Optimus's processor; the back of the mech's helm had been stripped away completely, exposing his delicate inner workings to the elements. "Howcutecutecute..."

_"He's beautiful."_

_"Of course he is, he's half you."_

_"Hush, Animus. Could you not make innuendos while I'm watching our sparkling?" Beta glanced upwards, the back of her helm thunking softly against her mate's broad chestplate. He chuckled, lowering his head to brush his mouthplates affectionately over her foreplate._

_"My mistake. I apologize, dearest. Hello, Optimus," he added with a smile, beaming down at his first born. Optimus blinked tiredly up at his father, miniatre faceplates scrunched into a yawn, tiny fists rubbing at his optics. Beta felt her spark melt, and she pulled the sparkling closer, cooing softly down at him. _

_"He's beautiful," she sighed again, and Animus rolled his optics._

_"He's going to start thinking he's a femme if you keep saying that."_

_Beta delivered an acidic glare to her mate. "And what's wrong with femmes?"_

_"Nothing," Animus replied smoothly, biting down his chuckles. "I love femmes. Femmes are great. Pit, I even bonded to--OW!"_

_"Watch your language around the sparkling," she ordered him smugly, looking back down at the baby bot cuddled in her arms. Optimus blinked owlishly up at his parents, one thumb inside his mouth, bright blue optics scrutinizing them carefully. They both sighed as the child curiously probed their bond. Animus, rubbing his sore chestplates, reached out a hand to very gently caress his son's head. Optimus purred softly, turning his helm into his father's warm palm, optics shuttering slowly. He blinked them back open, determined to stay awake. He wanted to absorb as much of his parents' love as he could before dropping back into recharge._

_"Aw, are you tired, little one?" Animus asked softly, wrapping his arms around his beloved sparkmate's waist and rocking her gently. "You can go back into recharge if you like. We can discuss how cute you are even when you're not awake, you know."_

_Beta smiled faintly, leaning back into her bonded's warm embrace. "He's beautiful," she mumbled, and Animus growled into her audio._

_"Femme..." his voice trailed off, and then he abruptly brushed his mouthplates over her cheek. "I love you."_

_She snuggled closer to him, sighing softly, her optics gazing down at her son. "I love you too..." her optics brightened, and she hoisted Optimus higher to kiss his cheekplates. "Both of you."_

_Optimus purred. There was a lot of love emanating from his parents' end of the bond; for each other and for him. Content, warm, surrounded by sparks that cared for him, he dropped back into recharge..._

"Thisonethisonenext!" The happy memory faded at the hacker's demand, and Optimus's spark sank. He'd been enjoying watching his parents faces again. He missed having a creator's love within his spark. He hadn't really gotten enough of it...

"That was private," he growled at Frenzy, but the mini bot paid him no heed.

"Thisonethisone," the hacker chirped, and there was a sadistic note in his voice that made Optimus's spark shudder.

Optimus jerked his head instinctively as the memory file began to play, flashing in the field of his vision. He recognized this one...vividly... "_No…_"

"Yeahyeahyeah…" Frenzy giggled. "Whothatwhothat?"

_Animus, torn in half, golden energon streaming from the separate pieces of his body. He opened his mouth to speak, but only a gargled moan came out. His optics flickered and faded away, and his chestplates covered the bright flash as his spark stuttered and died. The youngling nearby screamed as his father faded abruptly from his spark, the bond seeming to burst into flames. The child was trapped beneath his mother. Beta was as good as gone, he could feel her fading away; the ground was strewn with her innermost parts, her abdomen was bloody, gory, impaled by an enemy's spear. _

"_Optimus," she whimpered, her fingers trembling upon the soiled ground. She felt her sparkmate fade from their link, and she released a soft cry of misery. "Optimus, sweetspark…where are you…?"_

_The youngling struggled beneath her, pulling himself on frail arms that had not yet developed, and after a few moments he managed to pull himself out enough to turn his small body and look at her face. She lifted a trembling hand to touch his small faceplates, and her blue optics locked onto his. Such intelligence. Such a sweet, loving little bot. So small…_

"_Optimus," she mumbled, her optics flickering. "Sweetspark, beloved…__**Optimus**__…"_

_Her optics faded and her hand dropped, leaving a long trail of energon across his cheekplates. He blinked wordlessly, that face, usually so full of love and joy, twisting in an expression of pure agony as his mother vanished from his spark. _

"_Momma," he whispered, his tiny voice wavering. The tears built in his optics and streamed slowly down his faceplates, puddling on the ground beneath his chin, optics widening in sheer terror as his spark began to palpitate, going into shock. "Momma. Momma. Momma."_

"Stop it!" Optimus snarled, jerking his head away, and Frenzy squawked when he lost the connection.

"Jerkjerkjerk--"

"Shut up!"

Frenzy reestablished the link roughly, barreling into Optimus's mind once more, and the mech grunted, dropping his head, panting weakly. While Frenzy searched for more fun things to do, Blackout glanced lazily at the mech standing in the corner. Megatron cocked his head, watching his elder brother quizzically, before giving Blackout a brisk nod. Blackout pressed his hand to the remote in his other, smirking, and Optimus screamed in pain as the electrical current fired down his circuitry, frying his neurosensors to nothing, ripping into his processor and burning out any coherent thought. Blackout hit it again, and Optimus's vocalizers cut off as he screamed, as the current bolted into his spark casing, slamming away at the shield the casing formed. Blackout amped up the voltage, and the casing gave way, thousands upon thousands of volts attacking Optimus's very spark.

Barricade moaned softly and shut off his audios; he couldn't stand it.

"My shift's over," he said loudly, forcing his voice to sound half as calm as he felt. "I'll send in someone else to take over."

"Fine," Megatron muttered, his cold red optics scrutinizing his suffering brother apathetically. "Send in someone…_creative_, would you? We're not quite at the breaking point yet." He glanced over his shoulder at the security officer and grinned, the sadistic smile twisting his once handsome faceplates.

"Herewegogogo," Frenzy twittered, just as Optimus's vision began to fade, and the little hacker rebooted the commander's processor…

"_Optimus?!"_

_The youngling lifted his head, trembling, optics flickering. His spark was fading. "Uncle?" he said, but no sound came from his vocalizers. _

_Paramus, optics wide and pained, rushed forward, gaze locked on the bloodied little mech trapped beneath his beloved elder sister. "Opt--"_

_A plasma gun fired somewhere, seemingly in the distance. His body jerked upwards, violently, and he blinked down at the hole where his chest had once been. His mouth opened slowly, horrified, and he staggered forward, one hand reaching for Optimus. _

_Paramus never made it._

_His optics rolled into the back of his head, his spark collapsed, and he fell…_

Optimus threw his head and neck backwards, neatly slamming the hacker against the wall. Megatron snorted. Frenzy was shrieking madly, struggling to reestablish his connection, angry little fingers digging into the back of Optimus's cranial unit, tearing through the sensitive wiring nestled beneath his processor. Optimus's spark went cold as all feeling abruptly vanished from his lower legs.

"Heyheythisone's_kinky_kinky," Frenzy hissed and loaded another memory file. Blackout flippantly delivered another electric pulse, attacking Optimus's spark--

_She moaned beneath him, body arching neatly into his, and he dropped his willing mouthplates to hers, kissing her desperately, passionately…_

"_Optimus," she sighed, and he pressed his glossa past her lips, mapping out every contour and detail of her mouth. "Optimus," she gasped again, turning her face from his, and he moaned into her neck wiring._

"_Lita…"_

"_No, listen to me…"_

"_Please…" he gasped, chest and hips moving unevenly against hers. "I-I want…"_

"_I know," she whispered, and they kissed, lips barely touching through their breathy moans. "Optimus…I-I love…love you…"_

"Prettypretty_pretty_femme," the hacker laughed giddily, and another bolt of electricity raced through Optimus's chest. His spark flickered unevenly, and for one terrifying moment he was sure it was going to go out--

_She turned her face up to his, intakes pulling in air frantically, and he tightened his grip on her hips. He could kiss her…she'd let him, he was sure…_

_He leaned down, lips just barely brushing up against hers, and the door flew open, heralding the officer who would tell him he was to be bonded to another--_

"Naughtynaughtyboy," Frenzy whispered, plunging deeper into the files containing Elita.

_Their sparks came together, and they were too awestruck to cry out. Their essences flooded together, mixing, becoming one, becoming __**whole**__--_

"No," Optimus snarled, fighting against the hacker's control of his processor. "Th-That's not for you to see…"

Frenzy squawked, the memory files abruptly blocked, and he twittered to Blackout. "Anotherpulsepulse_pulse_…"

And Blackout complied.

* * *

Elita sat bolt straight up, her optics wide, intakes heaving, her chassis covered in coolant. Her fans were working overtime, nearly burning themselves out, but they couldn't relieve the uncomfortable heat spreading up through her frame. She blinked dizzily, looking around the room, but her vision spun. Rodimus was lying beside her on the berth, whimpering slightly, squirming, uncomfortable. She reached down to stroke her son, but she couldn't focus…

Groaning, she placed a hand over her foreplate and uneasily slid from the berth, her shaking legs carrying her to the waste receptacle. Her knees gave out, and she collapsed, leaning over the receptacle to heave the contents of her waste tanks into it.

Waves of pain suddenly engulfed her spark, so violently that she cried out, hands tightening into fists over her chestplates. She could feel her bonded reaching out to her--a wave of love, a burst of pain, a pleading nudge, a wave of agony, a cry for help, anguish--

"Elita?"

She felt a large, rough hand on her back, and Ironhide filled her blurry vision.

"Lita? Ya sick?"

"They're hurting him," she whispered; she hadn't realized that she'd started crying. "They're torturing him. Ironhide, _they're killing him_!"

She didn't say who 'him' was.

But Ironhide didn't need to ask.

* * *

**Whoo. This psychological crap is a lot harder than I'd expected. I was hoping to make the memory of Optimus's parents' death as powerful as the one **_**optimus prime 007 **_**wrote recently, but I don't think I quite made it…hm…**

**Please review? And I'll be working on the next chapter for the four days I have off from school next week, so hopefully it won't take six months this time, especially now that I have the plot really rolling now…**

**Plenoptic**


	32. Chapter 32

**

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Two**

_Plenoptic_

**Two days after thirty-one went up, I'm jumping into thirty-two! :D Aren't you all proud of me?**

**I aced a math test and absolutely destroyed my science test. 109 percent! Whew. Stupid glaciers and deserts unit…one of you adults out there, tell me if Earth Science has any actual merit in the real world. XP **

**Anyway. Enjoy the chappie!**

* * *

The world spun back into focus. Slowly. So slowly it made him sick. The blank ceiling of the cell stared back at him as he floated back into consciousness, and he blinked blearily back up at it. He craned his head, looking around at his surroundings.

…_What_?

Hadn't he been in bed with Elita just a minute ago? They'd been bonding, hadn't they? They--

"…Oh."

The memories came back like the ebb and flow of the tides, and he groaned. Frenzy, Blackout, Megatron, watching him suffer, Barricade with his back turned…either because he didn't care or because he didn't want to see another mechanism being tortured. Optimus knew the mech had at least a half decent spark.

"You awake?"

Optimus looked over, blinking up at the mech at the cell door. "Barricade. Hello."

"Hello yourself," the officer snorted, shaking his head. "Primus, you look a mess. I wouldn't keep my head on the ground any longer if I were you--they tore off the plating on the back of your helm."

"Oh. Right." Optimus nodded and sat up--or not. He couldn't move his lower legs. Huffing, he tried to generate enough velocity to heave himself up, but he simply couldn't manage it. Wincing, he turned his head to at least keep the back of his delicate inner workings from grinding up against the hard floor.

"Best you can do?" Barricade asked, a hint of worry in his tone.

"Best I can do," Optimus replied, shuttering his optics. He was tired, suddenly. "I blacked out?"

"Yeah."

"I was trying to reach out to Elita. I don't know if I made it or not."

"I'm sure you did."

"I wish I hadn't."

There was a silence between them, and then Barricade stood himself up. "Right. I'll be back in a moment. You stay put."

"Sure thing," Optimus groused, scowling. "Not a problem."

* * *

The midnight blue femme stepped back from her table, smiling to herself. She'd assembled nearly every medical instrument she and Barricade could come up with, and now she had it. An arsenal of equipment to rival and outdo Starscream's own. All she needed was a little more practice, and then the position of CMO was as good as hers. Primus knew it had to be out of the hands of the crazy little scientist.

"Nightwing."

She glanced over her shoulder and grinned at the appearance of her huge mate through their doorway. "Hey, 'Cade! Check this out--I've got an armada, all set to go up against the Screamer."

"That's impressive, but--"

"I'll kick his sorry aft into next vorn! Wait until Megatron gets an opticful of this, he'll be too stunned to speak--for once."

"Hey, Nightwing? Can we talk?"

"Sure, sure," she replied cheerfully, packing away her equipment. "Fire away."

He paused, considering. The femme was in an unusually good mood. Nightwing was known to be sulky and a bit unsociable, a bit violent and impossible to control. He approved of her that way. He hadn't quite brought himself to think of her using the big "L" word; his Decepticon programming absolutely forbid it.

He frowned. Was that all it took? An insignia and a pledge? Because Optimus Prime was an Autobot, he could _love_ his sparkmate, but because Barricade was a Decepticon, he could only _approve_ of his?

He shook his head to clear it of these thoughts, redirecting his attention to the dark, sultry femme before him. Nightwing had turned to face him, her hands on her curvaceous hips, one optic ridge arched.

"Well?"

Barricade inhaled deeply, the slats of his nasal plates flaring. "You have a patient."

She blinked, and her optics narrowed. "It's not Frenzy again, is it?"

"No. Someone bigger."

Nightwing cocked her head, pondering. A small smile flickered across her face; she liked this game. "Your interface need a check-up?" she teased.

He growled in return. "No, femme. Try again."

The medic sighed, sitting down on their berth and fluttering her optic shutters. "Darn. Struck out. Okay, I give up. Is this going to be another under-the-table patient?"

"Erm…yes."

"…Like?"

"Optimus Prime," he said in a very quiet voice.

Nightwing stared. And stared. Then blinked and stared some more. When she realized he wasn't kidding, her optics widened and her mouth dropped open.

"Are you fragging with me?!"

"Wait, Night--"

"Are you out of your fragging processor?!"

"Shut up for two astrosec--"

"ARE YOU FRAGGING INSANE?!"

"Nightwing!" he roared, lunging forward and clamping a hand over her mouth. "Please, shut up! I'm begging you! You haven't seen the damage they've done to him, it's brutal, even for us, next they'll be sawing off his limbs one by one or something! If he's got someone treating him it'll at least help his morale, so just please! I don't want to see him go this way."

Nightwing stared at mate over his hand, her red optics narrowing dangerously. "I'm not helping some fragging _Autobot_," she spat venomously, pushing him off of her. "Especially if Megatron wants him gone. Do you realize what he'd do if he found out? He'd kill all of us, 'Cade--you and me and Moonshadow, too. You don't want that. I know you don't."

They stood in silence for nearly a breem, the tension thick enough to blow a hole through, their optics staring the other pair down.

"Please," Barricade said quietly, finally. "Please, Nightwing. I'm begging you. Besides, you need the practice. I'm not asking you to do anything major, nothing noticeable, just make him more comfortable."

Nightwing's resolve flickered. Barricade wanted this; he was even reaching out to her over their bond. It was rare, for him--though he'd agreed to the bonding, she knew he didn't like feeling so attached to another. She bit her lower lip, lowering her optics. Then she looked up, her gaze determined and strong once more.

"Alright. Fine. Where is this Autobot of yours?"

* * *

"I look like fragging Thunderblast."

"Good. That means this is working."

"I'm not even kidding. Someone just said the words 'Hi, Thunderblast' to my face. This is so demoralizing, Ratchet, you don't even _know_…"

"Why is sharing the appearance of the femme Thunderblast not pleasing?" Perceptor inquired, confused; wasn't the point of this ridiculous new paint job to look like a Decepticon?

"Because she's a mech-stealing whorebot, that's why!" Chromia fumed into her comm link, narrowing her optics. A few mechs nearby gave her curious looks, and she schooled her expression into one that was blankly unexcited. _Decepticon_, she told herself firmly. _Be a Decepticon._

She paused and sighed softly, shaking her head. "This isn't working, Ratchet."

"What's not?"

"This whole getting into character idea. I want to shoot _myself_!"

"Just bear with it, Chromia," Ratchet ordered tiredly, shuttering his optics briefly. He was near the Decepticon command center, but he'd just been roughly ordered away by the guards. "I don't have the proper access clearance to get into the command center, so we're going to have to discreetly ask around to find Op--our missing operative."

"Wouldn't he just be in the prison cells?" Chromia asked.

"Maybe," Prowl cut in darkly. "Perhaps Megatron is holding him elsewhere; a guest of honor, if you will. That mech's sadism knows no limit."

"Megatron can be very elaborate," Ratchet admitted, thinking back to the brutal but frighteningly complex pranks the warlord had wrought across the base as a youngling. "But I believe that the prison cells are as good a place as any to look. Chromia, you're a femme, so it'll be easiest for you--ask around and find the prison cells."

"Uh, wouldn't they expect to know where the prison cells are?"

"Tell them you're a newbie from another base. Just look cute, they'll buy it. Stay on the line in case something goes wrong."

"Yessir," she grouched irritably, and fell silent.

"I have managed to locate the communications hub," Perceptor piped up optimistically. "But they did not recognize me and have denied me access to its inner chambers."

"That's alright, we don't really need to use their broadcasting system," Prowl said dismissively. "I wish the others would get into Kaon's range, we need to formulate a plan."

"The others are probably a mess right now," Ratchet said doubtfully. "How do you suppose Ironhide is doing?"

There was a silence; Ratchet thought he heard a sigh from Chromia's end and suddenly wished he hadn't even mentioned the trigger-happy moron.

"I would prognosticate that Ironhide is indeed very unhappy," Perceptor said carefully, and Prowl grunted his agreement. Ratchet bowed his head, and Chromia said nothing. The scientist continued, not having noticed his comrades' discomfort. "I assume that Elita One is not feeling so, how do you say, 'chipper' herself."

"No, probably not," Chromia growled, and Perceptor shut up upon hearing her tone. The femme was stressed and quite possibly afraid; it was not a good combination. "Alright, all of you shut up for a second, I'm about to ask directions."

They loyally closed their mouthplates, their thoughts wandering even as they listened to Chromia's annoyingly high faked voice trill out an inquiry as to where the prison cells were. Ratchet shuttered his optics, leaning against the nearest wall, and a thrill of urgency rushed through him.

They _had_ to find Optimus.

* * *

The commander of the Autobots gasped when the Decepticons' medic pressed the medical pad to the back of his helm, whimpering at the feeling of the cold fluid seeping in against the damaged wiring.

"Frenzy did this?" Nightwing murmured, her optics darkening with something that felt a lot like pity. "He did a good job on you. Cut out your motor functions from the knees down."

"So I noticed," Optimus gasped, his intakes hitching.

"Can't you give him something for the pain?" Barricade asked softly, glancing nervously at the door. "And maybe pick up the pace a little?"

His mate glared up at him. "You wanted me to tend to him, didn't you? And now you're rushing me out the door? Give me a break, Barricade. And I'm not wasting pain killers on him."

"It's not a waste," Barricade argued quietly. "Come on, Nightwing, we're taking a big enough risk--why do a halfway job?"

She glared him down for a moment before pulling a syringe from her subspace, filling it with a pain killer from her personal store, and roughly injecting it into Optimus's neck wiring. The mech gasped, his optics widening, and then his body relaxed, going limp against the cold floor. Barricade exhaled deeply, relieved; Nightwing could be brutal when she got too resistant.

"Did he hack your processor?" Nightwing asked of her patient, bending closer to peer carefully into Prime's optics, looking for signs of other damage. Had his thought processes been affected?

"Yes," Optimus replied tiredly, blinking slowly. He seemed coherent enough, but she couldn't be sure.

Nightwing bit her lip, thinking, then coaxed the mech gently onto his side so she could work on his damaged motor wiring. "Tell me about your family, Optimus."

Barricade stared, his mouth falling open. What? She was using bedside tactics! Acting like a…like a…_medic_!

Optimus blinked, confused. "My family?"

"Yup. Got a sparkmate?"

"Uh…yes."

"Tell me about her," Nightwing said absently, focused on bringing the torn wiring back together. Frenzy was random when it came to destruction; he probably had no idea of what he'd done to Prime's legs.

"Tell you about Elita?"

"Did I stutter?" she asked, a little more roughly than she meant to, and quickly rubbed at his audio to make him relax. His processor was going to become more electrically charged than Blackout's torture devices if he got stressed out, and her fingers were going to be the perfect conductor. Starscream wouldn't be happy if he made her admit how she'd gotten herself electrocuted…

"Well, um, Elita's…um…she's beautiful," Optimus began uncomfortably. It was a little strange to be talking to the Decepticon femme about his own mate, especially when hers was standing nearby. But Ratchet did the same thing; made small talk, asked random questions. Nightwing was, to a degree, trying to make him more comfortable. "And she's very…authoritative. Very strong. Determined, driven, whatever you will. She doesn't like power, but it suits her, and she uses it wisely…she's not afraid of anything, either, _nothing_ seems to ruffle her."

"I'm sure she's ruffled now," Nightwing mused, tugging on a repaired wire experimentally. Optimus's right foot jerked, and she smiled, satisfied. "Especially since she doesn't know what's happening to you."

"I'm afraid I might have transmitted to her when they were…um…doing that thing to me," Optimus stammered out, shuttering her optics. He didn't really like having the Decepticon poking around in his head, but after Megatron's clear disappointment with the last 'session,' he supposed he was going to have to get used to it. "She's probably worried."

"Worried but not scared?"

Optimus bit his lower lip uncertainly. "I…don't know."

Nightwing was silent for a moment, but then she smiled slightly, rubbing his audio again. "She must care about you. I'm sure she's scared for you. Just…strong enough not to let it show?"

Optimus almost beamed. "I hope so. I mean, Primus, I don't_ want_ her to be scared, but it's…nice. To be cared about like that. I mean…you know what I'm talking about, right?"

She said nothing, not daring to look up at Barricade. More and more, with each passing day, she was beginning to worry that he hadn't bonded with her based on any logical feeling, but she didn't want to believe it had only been lust. After all, he hadn't asked her to abort when she'd told him she was with spark; surely he had to have _some_ feelings for her?

"The sparkling," she said after awhile, deciding to change the topic. She got his whole leg to twitch, then jerk; they were really getting somewhere now. "What's he like? Sorry, I don't even know his name…"

"Rodimus," Optimus said, and a small chuckle shook his weakened frame. "He's a rambunctious one. He's got more energy than Elita and me put together." The big mech shuttered his optics, and a tremble rippled through his frame. "I was…terrified…when he disappeared. I was so afraid I thought I was going to die. I've never…" he inhaled deeply, fighting down the rising tide of emotion inside of him. "I wasn't that scared even when Megatron got a hold of Elita."

Nightwing cocked her head. "Really?" The other leg jumped. Excellent. Almost there…

"…When…when he got 'Lita…I was more angry, I think. I was furious. He'd taken what was, in my mind, rightfully mine." Optimus opened his optics, blinking them tiredly. "Elita was mine. I couldn't let him take her away. Never. But…with Rodimus…I don't know if it's just because I was older, but I really was terrified. Elita was strong, I somehow knew she would be alright, but Roddy's so small. He's so helpless. So vulnerable. And he'd been taken by a friend. I didn't know…who to trust. Who to turn to, what to do. Every move I made could have cost him his life. It was upsetting. Disturbing. I've…never felt that way before."

The Decepticon couple listened silently. Barricade tried to imagine how he'd feel, what he'd do, if someone ever managed to take Nightwing away, and to his great surprise, his spark ached. Well, of course it would, he was bonded to her, but…How would it really feel? To be separated, to lose, one of the two beings he truly cared for?

Maybe he…loved Nightwing. Maybe he cared for her more than he could tell her. Maybe she didn't know? He was afraid, after all. Afraid to grow so close to another, and then, what if she really was taken away from him? Taken away by Megatron, or by an Autobot's gun, or even a Decepticon's? Would it make the pain any less if they weren't as intimately close as were Optimus and Elita?

_No_, Barricade decided, sighing softly. No, if she died without knowing how he felt, the pain would a thousand times worse, because she would die without him ever having the chance to tell her just how much he cared…

"Right, I think that's all I can do," Nightwing said promptly, changing the subject as the tension between herself and her sparkmate increased. "Do you want to try standing up? How about just moving?"

"Um…" Optimus's optics narrowed, and with a grunted he managed to roll himself into an upright position, bending his legs experimentally. "You did it!" he gasped, shocked. "Primus, you're amazing."

"So I've been told. Let's try to get you up."

It was with some difficulty and Nightwing's help that Optimus pulled himself to his feet, sending electric spasms through his legs that made his knees shake and threaten to give way.

"There are still some kinks," Nightwing observed, having him sit down again so she could observe her work on his wiring. "But it could just be that your processor needs time to reconfigure your motor abilities."

"Either way, you've fixed it," Optimus said happily, turning to blink at the femme. "Thank you."

She stared at him for a moment, unsure of how to respond, and then she whacked him on the foreplate with her palm.

"_OW_! What was that for?!"

"For being an idiot and making Frenzy rip all that out to begin with! Don't antagonize your captors, you moron!"

"Well, excuse me! How was I to know the little monster had that much of a temper? No offense, Barricade."

"None taken. I hate him too."

"Anyway, I'm out of here," Nightwing grumbled, subspacing her materials and getting to her feet. "I've spent enough time down here as it is. I'll be back if they screw you over again, but do try to act even half intelligent. It's a pain looking after your aft."

Optimus scowled for a moment, but then his expression softened, and he smiled at her. "Yes, I'll try to do that. Thank you very much, Nightwing. You risked so much."

"And don't you forget it," she growled in response, but a small smile tugged at her faceplates. He was an Autobot, a bit of an idiot, and a prick, but Optimus Prime was a little loveable. "Watch yourself."

Barricade removed the plasma barrier to allow his sparkmate exit, then reactivated the shield and with a prompt nod to Optimus, turned to walk his femme out. Nightwing trotted silently at his side as they made their way back to their quarters in silence, her optics determinedly watching the floor.

"…Night?"

"Mmmn?"

"Thanks."

She grunted, shrugging, but Barricade smiled very slightly. Cautiously, wary of the rifle she packed in her subspace, he slipped an arm around her waist, grinning when she willingly leaned into the embrace.

Now they were getting somewhere.

* * *

Despite his situation, Optimus Prime found himself to be in a very good mood. He had his legs back, and it turned out that not all Decepticons were sparkless. Nightwing was a femme, clearly not Barricade's slave, and she was a good, capable medic. Maybe he could even convince her and her mate to defect…

Optimus lifted his head at the sound of the door sliding open nearby, and opened his mouth to greet Barricade, but the words died in his throat when Shockwave approached his cell. Unsteadily, using the wall for support, Prime heaved himself to his feet to face the Decepticon. Shockwave was a terrifying sort of mech; eerie, deranged, always watching his victims with that one faintly glowing optic.

"I understand that you had quite the rough night," Shockwave said smoothly, and Optimus stayed silent. He knew enough about torture tactics to know when he was being baited. "I don't suppose you want that happening again, do you?"

Still, the commander said nothing. Being unable to read Shockwave's face unnerved him, mostly because Shockwave didn't even have one. How the Pit did he even _talk_? Optimus wished he had his mask; Megatron had been quick to take that away. He wasn't going to let his brother hide, he assured the dismayed commander. Not this time.

"I can tell you what Megatron wants," Shockwave said quietly, leaning closer to the cell. Optimus arched an optic ridge. He wasn't under the impression that Megatron _wanted_ anything. Information, sure, but he was probably just having his fun tormenting his enemy…right?

"You see, Megatron would never admit to it, but you Autobots are worthy opponents," Shockwave continued almost lazily. "The two factions have been locked in a stalemate. So Megatron is looking for a weapon; a trump card, of sorts, to help him gain the upper hand. Your demise would more than satisfy that, I think, but Megatron believes that there are Autobots within your ranks who could reestablish order and morale and continue the war in your place."

Shockwave never blinked, Optimus realized. He didn't even have optic covers! Had he been built as a torture specialist or what?

"Megatron believes that that little femme of yours will reunite the Autobots should you fall," Shockwave continued, his voice lowered to a whisper. "He believes that she will make the Autobots strong again before her spark gives out. Which is why Megatron believes that he must _break_ her."

Optimus felt his pump quicken as fear pumped through his systems. Megatron was after Elita? One commander wasn't good enough, he had to take Optimus's beloved sparkmate as well? What would become of Rodimus? Megatron wouldn't spare a sparkling, he'd already more than proved that…

"So really, it should be a simple matter for Megatron to capture and kill Elita One; he managed to get you," Shockwave continued. "But no, he doesn't want to do that. If he has both commanders trapped in Kaon, the Autobots will retaliate; they will be empowered by their anger and their desire to protect you. You _are_ well loved among your troops, it would seem. But Elita One has something that Megatron wants. Something that really could turn the tide of the war. Something that could immobilize entire armies, if only Megatron could capture it…_harness_ it…"

Optimus felt his systems run cold. His optics widened, and horror pumped through him, freezing his spark. _No…_

Shockwave was silent for a moment, watching the commander's reaction, and then he chuckled.

"Starscream couldn't find the Ellipses program last time."

_NO…_

"It was embedded in her spark, you see. Not a weapon, but a defense mechanism. Designed by Alpha Trion with sole purpose of keeping Elita alive. But…" Shockwave would have grinned, had he been capable. "Elita has only used the program once. Just once, despite all the times she has had need of it. Why do you suppose that is?"

Optimus shook his head slowly. _What…?_

"I can't be sure," Shockwave hissed. "The Ellipses program could have been deactivated by anything. But I'm guessing that Megatron is going to try everything to find out, as soon as he realizes that the program is inactive. And he _is_ going to figure that out. He's not a moron, he'll wonder why she didn't use it when Rodimus was kidnapped, when you were captured…he's going to realize that she _can't_."

"…Why are you telling me this?" Optimus asked, trying to keep his voice from shaking.

Shockwave laughed softly. "Because I don't _want_ Megatron to win this war, Prime. I don't want that glory to be his. I want it for myself, you see? If Megatron can unlock the Ellipses program, you lose. End of story. It is the ultimate weapon. I may be able to dissuade Megatron from trying to unlock the program. But I want some reward for my traitorous efforts."

"Like what?" Optimus asked cautiously.

Shockwave lowered his voice, leaning close. "Perhaps I can persuade me to form a coalition with me. Our objective? The destruction of Megatron."

* * *

**Dun dun DUUUUUUN.**

**I'm planning on updating over the break--NO SCHOOL FOR FIVE WHOLE DAYS! REJOICE! SING TO THE HEAVENS!--but in case I don't, HAPPY THANKSGIVING!**

**Oh yes--December 8 is my birthday. Does someone want to write Plenoptic a birthday present??? :D**

**Hope you enjoyed, drop a review on the way out?**


	33. Chapter 33

**Chapter Thirty-Three**

_Plenoptic_

**I'm back! :D I had to go and reread the last chapter to figure out where I was…my brain's been churning over this story arc so I wasn't sure. **

**Here we go! Let the torture continue! Mwa ha ha ha ha!**

**Hope you like :D Reviews make me happy :3**

* * *

Alpha Trion was in a bit of a…tizzy.

To be quite frank, he was so unsettled that he'd taken off for Iacon without even alerting his young apprentice. He felt quite guilty about it now, but Escapade was more than capable of looking after himself for a few joors. As long as he didn't wander too far from their hideout, they would be able to reunite with relative ease.

Trion nervously blew stale air from his intakes, weaving his way through the bustle of Iacon. He realized that he must have looked a mess; it had been orns and orns since he'd last washed his armor, and the paint was chipping all over the place. He was hardly recognizable. Of course, research still held priority over hygiene, and Trion didn't find himself too upset over his appearance. There were, after all, bigger things to worry about.

He was a bit pleased that the base had enhanced security around its gates, for it gave him the opportunity to test the cloaking mechanism Escapade had come up with very recently. It worked wonders; Trion was able to slip by the guards completely unnoticed, the only clue to his presence a slight shimmer in the air as he passed.

The base wasn't quite as easy to navigate as he'd first remembered, but then, he hadn't been here in a very long time--not since he'd informed Optimus and Elita of the existence of the Matrix of Leadership, and that had easily been a vorn or two ago. The base had grown a lot since then, the floors had all been expanded, and thus finding the commanders' private quarters was quite difficult.

It took nearly five or six breems, but after scaling far too many flights of stairs for his liking, Trion found himself on the threshold of the commanders' apartment. Finally turning off the cloaking device, he nervously rubbed a few patches of debris from his armor before rapping sharply on the door.

No answer.

A bit put off, Trion knocked again, louder this time, but only to be met with the same silence. Was Elita not in?

It occurred to Trion only then just how stupid he really was being. Of course the femme wouldn't be hiding in her quarters! Her mate had been captured, they were at _war_, she'd be off on base somewhere else, formulating a plan…

"…Trion?"

He spun back around, having turned to bolt back down the stairs, and was shocked by Elita One's appearance. The normally bright glow of her armor seemed dulled, and her optics were dim. There were streaks of dried energon on her faceplates, and her posture, usually tall and proud, was slouched.

"Have you been crying, dear?" Trion asked in sheer bewilderment.

"A bit," she mumbled, rubbing tiredly at her optics. "It's been a long few joors…"

"So I have heard," Trion murmured, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Come. I need to speak with you. May I come in?"

She nodded tiredly and led him into the little family's quarters. The vid screen was on but muted; Rodimus was curled on the couch underneath a mountain of thermal blankets.

"I'm not even going to bother asking why you showed up here so abruptly," Elita sighed, sitting on the couch and stroking her snoozing son's head. "Care to tell me anyway?"

"You don't seem in the least bit surprised to see me."

"I figured you'd show up, somehow," she replied, leaning back against the cushions and blinking up at him owlishly. "Trion. What is it?"

The old mech sighed heavily, warm air gusting from his rusty intakes. He carefully surveyed the tired femme, quietly watched the recharging sparkling.

"I have come," he began quietly, "because I think it is time that I told you the truth about the Ellipses program."

* * *

Everything hurt.

He couldn't move. The greatest relief from the pain just came from lying still and silent, with his cheekplate pressed to the cold floor and his limbs sprawled out. His processor ached, regardless of whether his optics were online, and unpleasant tremors constantly ran through his abused frame.

Optimus Prime groaned softly, unshuttering his optics to blearily survey his surroundings. The smell of the cell was awful; the violence of the "sessions" had left him emptying his waste tanks at night, and of course no one was about to go in and clean up. Wearily, Optimus thought that this must be what it was like to live like an animal.

The room began to spin, and Optimus shuttered his optics once more, attempting to start his recharge programs. But his body was still running hot from the electricity Blackout had pumped into him, and he couldn't seem to keep still. His limbs jerked erratically at random intervals, sending tingles of pain through his whole body.

But the worst of the pain came from his spark. It was being overrun by misery, both his and his family's. He could feel Elita's grief and anguish, no matter how she tried to hold it in, and he could feel Roddy's terrible confusion and fear. His spark felt like it was both on fire and slowly freezing over, and it was the one pain from which he could not escape, for neither recharge nor medic could soothe an aching spark.

He concentrated, tried to send Elita a wave of comfort, but he'd long since run out of energy, and his spark's weak signals were being drowned by the many Decepticon sparks around him. If only there were an Autobot now, a spark with good intentions, from which he could draw strength, and reach out to Elita…to Rodimus…

The sound of approaching footsteps reached his audios, and he reluctantly lifted his shutters. A pair of purple feet reached the mouth of his cell, but he could not crane his head up enough to see their owner. He was fully prepared to encounter Blackout, or maybe even Megatron himself, but his visitor made no sound for what felt like eternity. And then…

"…_Optimus_?"

* * *

"The truth about the Ellipses program?"

Trion nodded uncomfortably, clasping his hands in his lap and looking up at the femme sitting across from him. Elita had her son in her lap, and was watching the old mech carefully, skeptically.

"It stops time," Elita said flatly, arching an optic ridge. "What more is there to know?"

"How to activate it," Trion replied with yet another heavy sigh. "And vice versa."

"It activates when I'm threatened. We've been over this."

"How many times has it activated?"

"Just the once, when I was being chased by Megatron."

"Why do you suppose it has not activated since then?"

Elita opened her mouth momentarily, frowned, then closed it again. "…I…don't know. I've been threatened plenty since then."

"Because," Trion said quietly, leaning back and shuttering his optics, "since the one time it activated, you have been protected."

"I don't understand."

"Of course you don't. But allow me to explain." He reopened his optics, staring moodily at the dark ceiling. "The Ellipses program was designed to ensure your safety at all costs. It would freeze all threats until you had reached safety. Thus it activated when you were pursued by Megatron. And since then, you have been endangered many, many times. The time when Megatron stole you from the battlefield and attempted to bond to you, when you were in the Corespark, when you were shot and your sparkling was endangered, and of course the most recent battle, in which you were trapped in Kaon and surrounded by Decepticons. The Ellipses program never activated."

"So is it defective? I thought it was supposed to protect me."

"That is its purpose," Trion said, frowning. "But it is really only to be used as a last resort, when there is no other hope, for the program, as you know, severely threatens your life as well. It drains your energy every moment it is activated, and it could kill you easily. Thus, it is programmed to only activate when you have nothing left to guard you."

"Then it should have activated all those other times," Elita said, frustrated. Trion had a habit of beating around the bush.

"Yes, it should have. But it didn't. Which means that it was absolute your last resort," Trion said clearly, looking her directly in the optics. "You did not feel unprotected. You never lost all hope. During all those moments when you were in danger, you always felt protected by something--or someone."

"_The whole time they had me, I was thinking about you…I bet Chromia'll tell me I've got a Prime complex." _

"Which leaves me wondering…"

"_Optimus, I love you! I wasn't just about to sit back and watch while you bled to death! I was willing to give my life for yours, so of course I was thinking about you! I was thinking of nothing but you!"_

"Elita?"

"_I love you. From the moment…I saw you…in that recruit office…you were…my reason…my life…my light…"_

"Can you tell me who that someone may be?"

"_Don't lose faith, brightspark. Papa will get us out of this. You'll see."_

"It's Optimus," she whispered. "Optimus. The whole time, I never…"

"Gave up hope," Trion finished quietly when her voice broke. "No matter how dire the situation, you always fully believed that Optimus would be there at your side. That he would protect you, keep you safe. And thus, the Ellipses program served no function. It remained silent. And now that a spark bond exists between you and Optimus, the program has deactivated entirely."

"…If…if Megatron realizes that…"

"I'm sure he already has an inkling of what he must do. I doubt that he realizes the consequences, but I am sure he will try to break your bond. To weaken you if nothing else."

"And then the Ellipses program will…?"

"Have the potential to reactivate. But this is what Megatron does not know. The program is ingrained into your being, as permanent a part of you as your spark. It can only be removed when it is obsolete."

"…And…it's only obsolete when Optimus is watching over me."

"Correct."

"Then he'll break our bond for no reason!" she cried, getting to her feet. "He'll break our bond and the program will become vital again! He won't be able to remove it!"

"And then, of course, he will get frustrated," Trion noted quietly. "Elita, no one has ever experienced a broken bond. Bondmates have died, certainly, but a bond has never simply been _broken_. It may be irreparable. We have no way of knowing."

"Then we have to get Optimus out," Elita said shakily. "We have to get him out of there before Megatron tries to break our bond!"

"I realize this," Trion said, getting to his feet. "And I will do all in my power to help, Elita, but please realize…it may already be too late."

* * *

"Optimus?!"

Chromia dropped to her knees, staring in horror at the weakened commander. "Oh, _Primus_…Optimus, what have they _done_ to you?!"

"…Chromia?" he mumbled thickly, blinking slowly. "Is that you…?"

"It's me," she breathed, optics already scanning the plasma force field that surrounded his cell. "Don't worry, we're going to get you out of here…"

"We?"

"Ratchet, Prowl, Perceptor, and myself. Don't you worry about a thing. Are you alright?" she inquired, peering closely at him.

She could tell without an answer that he wasn't. Optimus didn't look like himself. Stray wires hung out from dingy, dirty armor. Every move he made seemed forced and jerky; his optics shutters twitched and blinked unevenly. His optics were clouded and unfocused. His cell stank of old energon.

"How do we get you out?" she murmured, despairing. She sat on the floor in front of his cell, wrapping her arms around her knees and exhaling deeply. Primus, it was at times like this that she really missed Ironhide…

"…Shockwave…"

"What?" Chromia looked back at her ailing commander, frowning. "What about him?"

"He wants…to sabotage…Megatron," Optimus panted, trying to lift himself up. His arms trembled before collapsing, and he fell back to the floor.

"…Hey. Hey, don't move, alright?" Chromia said softly, moving closer to the cell. "Shockwave…is he planning something?"

"I don't…know. A coup, perhaps…but if we help him, he may…release all of us…"

"We can't trust him, Optimus," she whispered. "Not Shockwave."

Optimus was silent for a moment, his intakes heaving softly. "…Barricade," he said at last. "He and his sparkmate have been…helping me. She is…a medic."

"She's been treating you?"

"Yes…I trust…her. Her name is…Nightwing. Find her, speak to her…see if she can help…"

"Right," Chromia agreed, nodding. "Optimus…hang in there, okay? We'll get out, I promise. I'll take a chance on this Nightwing."

"Thank…you. And, Mia…if all does not go as planned…you can just shoot your way out…"

"Thanks," she replied, grinning. "You just endure of us for now, alright? I'll be back later--I'll try and find the guard schedule so I can come unnoticed. Take care for now."

"Be…careful."

"Aren't I always?" she snorted, and he groaned softly. They were so fragged…

* * *

"…Kolkular. I was kind of hoping I wouldn't be returning so soon…"

"You're arrived, then?"

"Yeah. No sign of Chromia and the others. I'm going to land up top."

"Don't be seen."

The great white shuttle coasted in easily over the steel walls, transforming and landing atop the Fortress of Kolkular. Jetfire ducked behind one of its mounted satellites, dimming his optics as a Decepticon squadron screamed by overhead. He waited until they'd passed before inching around to the posterior of the dish, groping at its base until he found a small box. With deft fingers he popped open the lid and delved one hand inside, pulling out a solitary wire.

"Got it," he sighed, removing his prize and sitting back on his aft. "Alright, the external tech disruptor in this sector has been taken out. Should I contact the others?"

"As soon as you see fit, Jetfire," Elita One quipped over their shared comm link. "Remember that we're working with an unknown deadline here."

"Yeah, I know…Prowl first?"

"Please."

Jetfire opened his other channel, turning carefully, listening, waiting…

"…_Jetfire_?"

"Hey there, Prowl," Jetfire replied, putting as much cheer into his voice as he could. "How's it hangin', big bot? Find our other big bot yet?"

"Chromia reportedly found him a few breems ago…how are you communicating with me?"

"Took out a tech disruptor on the roof. Do you guys have a plan of action yet?"

"Chromia says she's working on it, and told the rest of us to lie low until she…anyway, I was given the impression that she was going to a Decepticon for aid."

"A Con, huh? Wouldn't surprise me, Megatron has plenty of enemies within his own ranks. Listen, contact me whenever you need to, and make sure that the others know I'm on the line. We're preparing an infiltration, but we need to know that you guys and Optimus are out of harm's way first."

"Elita…how is she holding up?"

"Surprisingly well. Listen…I think her bond with Optimus might be in danger, so if you can do anything to help Chromia, to help speed this thing along…"

"I shall do all I can. I am going to check on Optimus right now."

"Okay. Tell him not to worry, alright?"

"Agreed. Thank you for calling, Jetfire--your presence is a little comforting, if a bit unhelpful."

"What the frag is that supposed to mean?!"

"I mean that there is not much you can do by yourself. But it is nice to have a friend."

Jetfire smiled slightly behind his battle mask, folding in his wings and huddling behind the satellite dish. "Yeah, I feel ya. Do what you can for Optimus, Prowl--like you said, I'm no good to him now."

* * *

Barricade was a bit surprised to see a femme other than Nightwing at his door. Yet somehow not surprised when she claimed to be an Autobot.

"Optimus said I can trust you," she said simply, tucking her arms behind her back and tilting her head back to look at him. "You and your bonded. Please don't prove him a liar."

Barricade didn't respond verbally. He grunted and jerked his head, indicating that she should come in. She followed him into his quarters, peering around curiously. She'd never been inside a Decepticon's rooms before. She'd been expecting ancient weapons on the walls, or heads, or trophy limbs from victims, or _something_--and was therefore surprised to find that Barricade's quarters were very much like Optimus's or Prowl's. Stoic and simple.

"Nightwing," Barricade rumbled, poking his head into an adjoining room. "Come here for a moment."

A second later a femme stepped into the room, blinking quizzically at her bonded, a slight frown touching her otherwise pretty faceplates.

"What's wrong, Cade? I was recharging…" Her voice trailed off when she caught sight of Chromia. "You," she breathed, then her face contorted in fury, her voice dropped into a snarl, "_You!_ You're that monster's sparkmate!"

Chromia tensed, resisting the urge to pull her rifle from her subspace and blast the femme into last vorn for the insult. But these two were possibly Optimus's only hope of survival…

"I've come for your help on Optimus's behalf," Chromia said softly, but the opposing black femme drowned her out.

"Help? I've been helping him since the moment he got here--I've kept him alive, and he has the nerve to send this glitch and beg for more?! I've put my life on the line! I've risked everything just to keep that fragger functioning! How _dare_ he--"

"Enough," Chromia snarled, and Nightwing fell silent. "Enough," the dusky blue femme repeated, lowering her voice. "I don't care what you have against me or Ironhide or Optimus, but you're in this now and you're a coward if you back out. Optimus will remember this, he won't hesitate to assist you in the future if the time comes. I just need information, and then your work is done."

"What kind of information?" Barricade inquired, placing a hand on his sparkmate's shoulder to prevent her from continuing her rant. Chromia exhaled a sigh of relief.

"Information Shockwave," she replied, and Barricade's optics narrowed. "Optimus suspects that he may be prepared to usurp Megatron's authority and host a coup. If we assist him, is there a chance that he will release Optimus and let the rest of us leave safely?"

Barricade pondered for a moment. "…Maybe," he said at last. "I don't know about giving you permission and a going-away party, but chances are this place will be in so much chaos…if Shockwave pulls this off, he'll be too giddy to notice you leaving, and everyone else will be either furious or stunned. You should be able to escape unnoticed."

"Do we have a better chance of getting Optimus out alive if we help Shockwave than if we bust in and save him ourselves?"

"Probably."

"…Alright," Chromia gritted out. She hated this. Hated having to trust this Decepticon, but Optimus was too far gone. There was no more room for mistakes, they were out of time. Besides, if Optimus trusted him, then so could she. She had to trust her leader's judgment. "Then I'm leaving. Nightwing--thank you for caring for Optimus. Whether you wanted to or not is of little consequence to me, but it seems that he's alive because of you."

"…I only did it because I know where he stands," Nightwing growled. "If he didn't have a kid and a femme waiting for him to come home, I'd have let him rot without a second thought."

"I'll leave that part out when I give him your regards," Chromia said flatly. She then turned on her heel and swiftly departed, leaving the Decepticon couple silent in her wake.

* * *

Optimus shuttered his optics against the bright light hanging above his head. His limbs had been roughly bound to the steel table beneath him, and a strong sedative pumped into his fuel lines. Starscream was puttering around the room, muttering to himself as he searched for various tools.

It was hard to remain calm. What on Cybertron was the maniacal scientist planning? He'd already summoned Megatron and Frenzy, so Optimus fully expected another session, but Starscream hadn't been present for any of the others. And he'd never been restrained and flat on his back before…

"Starscream."

Optimus rolled his optics upwards at the sound of his brother's voice, groaning internally. Frag. Now would be a good time to find a happy place…

"My lord, we're ready. I'll need Blackout's shock therapy" --(_therapy? _Didn't that imply that it did something _good_?)-- "in order to part his chestplates."

Optimus's spark leapt into his throat, but he worked his face into a glare when Megatron loomed over him.

"Hello again, big brother," Megatron intoned softly. Optimus did not reply, staring his younger sibling in the optic, willing his spark to hate him already. It wouldn't, he knew that--he could never hate his baby brother, not while memories of a sparkling Megatron begging to recharge in his berth still lingered in his processor.

"Explain this process to me while we wait for Blackout," Megatron ordered, turning his cold gaze to Starscream.

"It is quite simple, actually," the scientist quipped, stepping forward and pressing a square device to Optimus's throat. The commander felt a jolt of electricity, and then his vocalizer abruptly shorted out. "His spark matter contains half of Elita One's, and this sharing of matter is the physical state of the bond. If we splice his spark enough, the bond should eventually be severed. A primitive idea, to be sure, but it is also logical."

Optimus's optics widened. Splice his spark? Break the bond? Surely Megatron wasn't…trying to break his sparkbond with Elita?!

Fear filled his spark immediately, suffocating all reason, all ability for thought. His sparkbond was in danger--the bond he'd fought so long and so hard for, the bond that kept him connected to the beings he loved most in the world.

The reaction was instantaneous--one massive foot swung upwards, tearing away the metal clasps on the table and catching Starscream in the side of the head, throwing him into the wall. Megatron ducked away, startled, as Optimus wrestled to get his arms free.

"I thought you had him sedated!" Megatron roared, turning on his aerial commander.

"I did!" Starscream squeaked, cradling his head and pressing up against the wall. "I've never seen an emotional response of this magnitude--"

"Enough," Megatron snarled, turning back to their thrashing captive and pulling his cannon from subspace. Turning it to a lower setting, he stepped forward and briskly pushed the nose into his brother's lower chassis.

Starscream turned his head away--gore always made his tanks weak--but he acutely felt the spray of energon that accompanied the report of Megatron's fusion cannon. He heard the choked static emitted from Optimus's stunned vocalizer, and he heard the drip of energon onto the floor. He clapped a hand over his mouth when his tanks churned, squeezing his optics shut.

"Restrain him again," Megatron requested, his voice clipped. "And inject another sedative."

"Another dose may prove fatal, my lord," Starscream dared to argue softly, but Megatron cut in.

"If that didn't kill him, another sedative surely won't. Do as I say, Starscream, my patience is wearing thin."

Starscream got up slowly, shaking visibly, and kept his optics down as he rebound Optimus's leg. It was impossible to avoid looking at the fresh wound. The Autobot's lower chassis was open and bleeding, the armor and internal wiring charred and black, covered in energon. His intakes were wheezing, and his vocalizer was still emitting static.

Blackout and Frenzy arrived moments later, but Starscream couldn't help but feel that the shock therapy and hacking were going to be unneeded after Megatron's ruthless assault. The Autobot commander was breaking and breaking fast.

"Begin, Starscream," Megatron ordered, taking a seat nearby and folding his arms over his chest, red optics glittering in the darkened room. "I've waited long enough."

"Yes, my lord," the Seeker agreed meekly, stepping forward. He inserted his fingers into the seam of Prime's chestplates and pulled, fully expecting them to open with no resistance. No such event came to pass. Optimus's optics were online and burning, glaring at Starscream. His fists were tight, his lips drawn back in a silent snarl. He wasn't even half as compliant as Starscream had hoped.

"Frenzy," Starscream said curtly, nodding towards the commander, and the little hacker leapt forward eagerly, inserting his long probes into the back of Prime's damaged helm.

"Backbackback," he twittered eagerly, accessing Prime's CPU and diving into his override codes. "Openopenopenup!"

Optimus grunted, turning his head to the side, trying to pull away from the probe. He was running codes of his own, activating every firewall he could, mentally putting up a wall against the hacker. Starscream continued to pull on the commander's chestplates while Frenzy ran the opening sequences. The plates began to part with a soft hiss as the air within decompressed.

"…_No…_" Optimus groaned, shuttering his optics tightly. It hurt to speak. There was a snap as his chestplates fell back into place.

"Blackout!" Starscream snarled, pounding a fist against Prime's chest. "Do something!"

Blackout stepped forward and calmly transformed his right hand into a long, needle-like attachment. With deliberate accuracy he thrust the point into the seam of Prime's chest and emitted a single electrical pulse.

Optimus threw his head back, a strangled cry rising from his damaged vocalizer. Blackout delivered another pulse, and when the plates still stubbornly refused to part, he thrust a hand into Prime's open chassis, grabbed the first handful of wires he could find, and pulled.

Even Megatron was inclined to wince at the scream that echoed through the lab. The commander's body arched helplessly, his limbs jerked in their restraints. Starscream leapt forward and seized the left chestplate and wrenched. It slid open, transforming back to expose half of the spark chamber beneath. Blackout was quick to open the other.

Seeing his brother open and laid bare for all to see, his spark bathing the Decepticons soldiers in bright blue light, Megatron couldn't help but smile.

* * *

**Awww shiz :D Please review!!!!!**

**Okay, so I will be leaving for the opposite end of the country on Wednesday and will be back August 4 or so. Please be patient until then :D I'll try to work while I'm on vacation so I'll have something to post when I return :3**


	34. Chapter 34

**Chapter Thirty-Four**

_Plenoptic_

**I know the story is getting all intense and stuff, but I'm listening to a really happy song :D**

**So, the new TNS chapter is ready for posting. I'm almost done with the next chapter of **_**Angelus Pennae**_** (so you can stop complaining now, OP007 :D). **_**When Trapped Within**_** will be getting an update soon--or as soon as my writer's block gives me a break XD…Have I forgotten anything?**

**I know I said that **_**The Ties That Bind Us **_**and **_**G1.5**_** would be worked on this summer, but I just ran out of time. **_**G1.5**_** will probably be on the back burner for some time, or at least until I can sit down, watch some episodes, and think of some witty material. **_**The Ties That Bind Us**_** will eventually be rewritten, but I'm not taking down the original version. I'll probably change the title and leave it be. Or I'll just add on the revised chapters. Whatever strikes my fancy when I get around to it.**

**So, without further ado--**_**New Beginnings'**_** last adventure.**

* * *

Standing outside of Starscream's lab, hands over her mouth, head bowed, an Autobot femme disguised as a Decepticon was crying. Passerby paid her little heed, mostly due to the fact that she was surrounded by mechs and therefore probably already taken anyway.

"The strange readings that were detected earlier…" Perceptor murmured, shaking his head slightly. "They were probably given off by the shards of sparks that Starscream has already succeeded in ripping apart."

Ratchet tightened his arm around Chromia and bowed his head. They'd been worried, at first, that her sobs would attract unwanted attention, but it seemed that Starscream had been in the spark-wrecking business for some time now. Ratchet had already spoken to dozens of males and females that had had their sparkmates torn away from them.

"I never thought Megatron's depravity had become so extreme," Prowl said softly, horrified by the turn of events. To literally rip apart sparkbonds…it was like something out of the most gruesome horror story. No, there was no literary bot on Cybertron who would dare sink to those depths…This was like something out the worst nightmare. Sparkbonds were held as sacred by all Cybertronians. Even the Decepticons, who frowned upon such ties, knew to respect a sparkbond. The ability to bind their existence to another being was one of the few things that separated the Cybertronians from their drone counterparts on other planets.

Another scream echoed from the room, the sound magnified by the acoustics in the hallway. Chromia pressed closer to Ratchet, who looked quite ill; Prowl and Perceptor both shuddered visibly.

"They've started, huh."

Prowl turned, startled by the soft voice at his audio. Nightwing was standing directly behind him, her optics dark and her expression unreadable. She glanced in Chromia's direction, and for a moment a look of sympathy flitted across her face. She knew how much the Autobots adored their leader. An orn ago the very thought of it had sickened her, but now the Prime's cries bothered her as well. As a medic she'd always believed that the truly good and kind did not deserve to suffer.

"Enjoying the concert, are we?"

The entire group turned this time, and Ratchet released a growl low in his throat. Shockwave was standing nearby, his single golden optic unusually bright. Barricade was standing behind him, looking slightly sickened by both Shockwave's words and by the screams that were battering their audios.

"That's enough," he said quietly, fixing Shockwave with a cold glare. "Don't push your sparkless attitude onto them."

"Careful, Barricade," Shockwave retorted flatly. "I might just have to report your treason to Megatron."

"Seeing as you're planning to overthrow him anyway, I fail to see how that would matter," Barricade growled.

"If you two are going to fight, go do it somewhere else," Nightwing snapped, irritation seeping through her end of her shared bond with Barricade. "Where's Moonshadow?"

"Playing with Soundwave," Barricade replied. Ratchet arched one optic ridge, and Chromia uttered the word "sparkling." To this Prowl jumped in surprise; the Decepticons had sparklings? How many? And since when was _Soundwave_ fit to be around children, much less _play_ with them?

"She likes his symbiotes," Nightwing offered as an explanation, shrugging at Prowl's perplexed expression. "What? We're not allowed to have families? Don't think your ridiculous prejudices apply to all of us, Autobot. We're every bit as civilized as you are, and you'd do well to--"

"Enough," Ratchet cut in. "If we could forget about factions for two nanoseconds, please. We share a common goal here, don't we?"

"Hardly," Shockwave snorted. "But they certainly compliment each other. You Autobots want your commander back; we want ours gone."

"I don't recall ever saying that I wanted Megatron gone," Barricade retorted sharply.

Shockwave turned to him, optic glinting. "Then your goal is to save Optimus Prime, is that it?"

The soldier fell silent, dropping his gaze to the ground, optics narrowing. As much as he disliked Shockwave, talking back to a superior officer would get his head and body on opposite sides of the hallway. _Civilized indeed_, he thought scathingly. Perhaps his sparkmate had deluded herself a bit.

"Jetfire has just informed me that Elita One is mobilizing her troops," Prowl suddenly breathed, and the motley group immediately fell silent. "Yes…they'll be here within the joor. If we are to usurp Megatron, now is as good a time as any."

"Not now," Barricade said hurriedly. "Optimus might be killed by mistake if we go charging in while Starscream is having his fun."

"If we don't go in now, Optimus's bond with Elita could be broken," Chromia hissed, wiping her optics, ashamed to have been crying in front of Decepticons. The stress of the whole situation was really getting to her. Primus, how she missed Ironhide…

"Bonds can be repaired," Nightwing interjected.

"The sensation of losing a sparkbond will throw Elita off in battle," Ratchet broke in. "It is absolutely imperative that this mission succeeds. We cannot have her operating at only a percentage of her full capacity."

"Ratchet's assessment is correct; however, it would be far too dangerous to mount an assault during such a delicate procedure," Perceptor noted.

"_Delicate procedure_?" Ratchet growled, rounding on him. "They're not doing any surgery we want Optimus involved in, Perceptor, they're tearing his spark apart!"

The argument was cut off abruptly when yet another scream rang out from the room. They'd all heard that cry before--it was the cry of a bot in awful, planet-shattering agony.

"Oh, that's it," Chromia growled, and before anyone could make another move to stop her, she'd ripped her formidable double-barrel plasma rifle from her subspace and blown down the door.

* * *

_There was nothing. At least, that was the most prominent feature of the place. It wasn't even white, like he'd imagined nothingness to be--it simply __**wasn't**__. There was no color, no sound--there wasn't even silence. He floated along aimlessly, rather enjoying the peace. The world on the other side of the wall was one of pain and grief and terror. He didn't want to go back. He was perfectly happy to just drift along, experiencing nothing, feeling nothing…_

_Out of curiosity more than anything else, he peeked around the wall. _Starscream's lab was a wild blend of lights and sounds, shouts accompanied by the wild report of various guns. He felt hands on his shoulders, shoving him off the table, and pain exploded through him when he hit the floor with a wet splat, landing in the puddle of bright blue energon. It was by far the most uncomfortable sensation he'd ever experienced, so without complaint, he ducked back behind the wall.

Prime's optics powered down once more, and Ratchet swore quietly, hands completely buried in his leader's abdomen, arms and torso covered in Optimus's life fluids. Megatron was roaring, his fusion cannon blowing massive chunks out of wall and mech alike; several Decepticons had rushed into the room when Chromia shot down the door, so half the room was composed of true Decepticons, the other half of Autobots in disguise. Megatron couldn't tell the difference, so it was just as well that he kept all of his bases covered.

Ratchet peeked his head up from below the table, scanning the room briefly. Good. Chromia, Prowl, Perceptor, Barricade, and Nightwing were all still in one piece. Mostly running behind the real Decepticons to avoid getting hit, but Ratchet had no qualms about that. Shockwave was nowhere to be seen, and yet the medic was hardly surprised. Leaving the hard work to someone else so he could reap the rewards later. Typical.

"Get your head down, medic," Barricade snarled over his shoulder, and Ratchet ducked back under the table, leaning over to peer closely into Optimus's dark optics. They flickered online for a moment before shutting down again. He was drifting in and out of consciousness. Which was good, considering that he should have been dead three joors ago.

"Atta boy," Ratchet muttered, hurriedly placing temp plating and various solders throughout the wreckage that was Prime's body. "You hold on just a bit longer, Lita's on her way."

_Lita. That name penetrated the wall, and for a moment he was tempted to poke his head around and listen further. He remembered Lita. Well, sort of. The name brought forth warm feelings, happy feelings. He couldn't place a face or a voice or even a body, really, but he knew the feelings associated with her name. It also reminded him of another name, one Primus had whispered to him long ago. Rodimus. Roddy? Roddy. Hot Rod. Lita. He curled up, content to listen to the names over and over again, relishing in the comfort they brought him._

An explosion sounded in the distance, and Ratchet's head snapped up, colliding with the bottom of the table. Swearing, rubbing his helm, he poked his head out and listened. Another explosion. Another part of Kolkular was under attack. Had Elita arrived already? Clearly thinking along the same lines, Nightwing skirted around the frantic mechs and darted out of the room. Barricade covered her, calmly shooting down a Decepticon soldier who attempted to follow her out. Ratchet shook his head. They were a ruthless bunch, these Decepticons.

"Hey!" Chromia shouted, ducking under the table. "Ratch! Let's get Optimus out of here!"

"What?" Ratchet snapped around to glare at the femme. "Are you out of your processor?! I wouldn't risk moving him even if this room wasn't a living Pit!"

"Megatron's distracted, now could be our only chance!" she argued.

"I can't move him on my own!"

"I can help with that," a cheery voice piped up, and Jetfire stuck his head beneath the table. "Need a hand, doc?"

"Jetfire! How the frag did you get in?!"

"Uh, the front door? All the guards have abandoned their posts, the base is in absolute chaos." He grinned. "You guys have succeeded in making it look like we've infiltrated Kolkular instead of gotten our afts stuck here. The 'Cons can't make heads or tails of the situation, they don't know who's a friend and who's…you know, not."

"We'll need someone to give us cover," Ratchet said, frowning. "And really, where the frag are we supposed to put him until we can make our escape?"

"Barricade and Nightwing's quarters," Chromia advised. "She's got medical tools up there, Ratch, she's been 'collecting' from Starscream."

"Great, fine," Ratchet groaned. "Jetfire, grab his legs, I've got him up here. No, wait, never mind, you're stronger than me, just _be gentle_, understand?"

"Got it, doc bot," Jetfire said, his cheery disposition melting away to reveal the soldier underneath as he gently situated his arms beneath Optimus's. The commander's head lolled back against Jetfire's torso, a low mumble coming from his vocalizer.

"Alright, one two three lift," Ratchet puffed. "One--two--three--lift, lift, lift…_gentle_!"

"He's not made of glass, Ratchet," Jetfire said irritably, grimacing as he accidentally thunked Optimus's helm against the leg of the table.

"Be gentle with him!"

"I'm trying! I didn't do that on purpose! Chromia, cover us, alright?" he barked out over his shoulder. She reloaded and flicked off the safety in reply.

Ratchet had been forced to lift plenty of patients off the battlefield before, but this topped all of his former experiences in terms of difficulty. Chromia did a magnificent job of shooting down any mech who came to close, but Jetfire and Ratchet were both forced to duck numerous times to avoid errant laser fire. By now the entire base was in chaos; Autobots and Decepticons alike whipped past, guns were firing nonstop. Jetfire yelped when his sensitive wings were singed but did not loosen his steady hold on their fallen leader.

"He's gonna be okay, right, doc?" Jetfire panted, looking worriedly down at Optimus's flickering optics. He refused to even glance at the hideous wound in his abdomen.

"Just keep up your end and I'll keep up mine," Ratchet growled. Jetfire took this as a yes.

"Right here!" Chromia called, waving them forward urgently. "Her quarters are right here…"

Puffing and heaving, the two mechs awkwardly shuffled over to her, arms aching and legs trembling. "You got the codes?" Jetfire grunted, adjusting his grip.

Chromia froze. "Er…"

"_What_?! We're carrying a half-dead mech throughout the halls of a base that's gone to Pit and you don't even have the damned door codes?!"

"I didn't think that far ahead!"

"You _never_ think far enough ahead!"

"Oh, like you do, Jetfire!"

"You guys need a hand?"

They all whipped around to see Wheeljack hovering nearby, audio fins flashing cheerfully.

"Wheeljack! You son of a glitch!" Ratchet swore, and the engineer grinned beneath his rimmed mask.

"I missed you too, Chief. Door won't open?"

"Something like that," Jetfire growled, casting a poisonous glance back at Chromia, who scowled back in reply before shooting a Decepticon coming up behind him.

"I got it," Wheeljack said brightly, and without further ado pulled a massive crowbar from his subspace and thrust it into the slight gap between the door and the jamb. Jetfire maneuvered to his right to help push the crowbar with his shoulder, almost dropping Optimus in the process.

"Alright, alright, in!" Ratchet panted in relief when the door finally hissed, sliding back on its tracks. "Let's get him onto the berth--Wheeljack, look around for medical supplies, Chromia, you cover the door!"

Optimus groaned lightly as he was lowered onto the berth, his optics flickering online. His head flopped to the side and he blinked dazedly up at his CMO. "…Ratch…et?"

"Don't talk," Ratchet ordered briskly, bending over his Prime's destroyed internals. "Go back into recharge."

Optimus blinked again, shaking his head slightly. "I…guh…what…"

"Nothing's happening. We're back on base, we got you out of there. Elita's with Roddy now, she's going to come see you in a few breems. Just go back into recharge."

"…Lita?"

"Yes, Lita. Go to sleep."

"…Okay…"

Jetfire shook his head. "Primus. He's really out of it. Anything you need me to do, Ratch?"

"Go help Chromia," the medic growled.

"But--"

"Go!"

Jetfire hesitated, then nodded, clasping Optimus's shoulder briefly before heading out of the berthroom and joining Chromia at the door, whipping out his blaster as he went.

"Got the stuff," Wheeljack panted, shouldering his way past a departing Jetfire and dropping a metal case onto the berth. "Just tell me what you need."

"Welding tip. Small. Temp plating, soldering materials, porti freeze packets. Now, 'Jack, now! We're short on time!"

"As usual."

"…Extract your foot from your mouth and then give it to me so I can kick your aft."

"Wrench. Got it."

* * *

As long as she could feel Rodimus in her spark, she knew she was unstoppable.

She'd never wanted anything as badly as she wanted her sparkmate back. Their relationship had been diluted by time—how had they become so caught up by their duties and the stress of raising a child that they'd forgotten that they were in love with one another? It had taken the loss of their only son to bring them together again…

She wanted Optimus back. She wanted to be the young femme who'd fallen in love with him on first sight again. She wanted to sneak forbidden kisses in his quarters. She wanted to love him madly and deeply, as she had before the Corespark and the war…

"Ratchet and Wheeljack say Prime is stable!" Red Alert fairly bellowed over the roar of laser fire. "They're on the top floor!"

Elita One grimaced, ducking behind a collapsed pillar to formulate a plan. They were only on the second floor, and they'd barely broken the surface of Kolkular's defenses. The only way to reach the top floor would be to simply fight their way through, but they didn't have the botpower to do that.

"Report from Prowl!" Jazz shouted into his comm. link. "Shockwave is pulling a coup! Megatron is in Starscream's lab, he's trying to fight his way down here but he's being intercepted at every turn!"

Elita's spark jumped into her throat. That was it. That was it! The timing was so impeccable that for a moment she glanced upward, wondering if she'd see Primus smiling down at her. Had Optimus known about this? Were there any trustworthy Decepticons running around? The only way to find out what was going on was to find her bonded…

"Right," she barked into her comm. links. "Megatron has his hands full. The 'Cons are distracted, so we're going all in and we're not coming out until we've got Optimus back."

A roar of approval met her orders, and she couldn't hold back a grin. It was relieving to have an army behind her that wanted her sparkmate back as much as she did.

* * *

"So now what?" Jetfire questioned, frowning over his shoulder at Ratchet. "Look, we can hold this position forever, but our ammo isn't limitless."

"Elita's coming," Ratchet said swiftly. "So we only have to hold out a little while longer, Jetfire. Do your best."

"His best isn't good enough," Chromia growled, picking off a 'Con that Jetfire had missed. The hallway was narrow and met a dead end to their rear, so batting back the attacking Decepticons was a simple matter. "Frag! I think Shockwave was going to take some of the heat off?!"

"So did I," Ratchet muttered. "Apparently Megatron is tied up on a mid-floor. That's where all the mayhem is."

"Elita's bound to be there by now," Jetfire said in dismay. "Our guys are going to get caught in the crossfire."

"Can Optimus walk?" Chromia demanded, turning around to glare at Ratchet.

"He's not even conscious," Ratchet growled. "I'm not moving him. We can't risk it."

"There's no way 'Lita's going to make it all the way up here!"

"She's going to have to! We can't drag Optimus down six floors!"

Chromia kicked a wall in response before turning around to continue firing. Her finger pulled down on the trigger—and nothing happened.

"…Oh, Primus. Ratchet! Give me your gun!"

"I don't have it!"

"What?!"

"I stashed it when we disguised ourselves—it was Autobot issue, it would've given me up!"

"Why didn't you subspace it?!"

"I didn't know their security procedures, what if they'd done a check?"

"You're a medic, for Primus's sake, you've got subspace pockets in every orifice of your fragging—_dammit_!" She threw her rifle in fury, clocking a Decepticon on the helm and sending him toppling backwards, taking down three of his comrades.

"Nice," Jetfire commented, impressed, but fell silent at the poisonous look she gave him.

"Jetfire, can't you carry Optimus on your back and fly out of here?" she demanded.

His optics widened. "Are you kidding? Fragger's huge, there's no way—"

"Look, you've at least got to try, or Optimus is dead," she said hotly, grabbing the white mech by the collar armor and jerking him down to her face level. "You're going to run out of ammo and then they're going to storm us and they'll finish what Megatron started. When Optimus dies Elita will die too, and the shock will probably finish Roddy off as well. Now don't look at those facts and tell me you can't even try!"

Jetfire stared at her, stunned, before giving himself a mental shake and turning towards their medic. "Ratch. Have you got any energizer?"

Ratchet blinked at him in shock. "What…? Jetfire, that's only for emergencies. Energizer is only to be used if the fuel pump cannot achieve full working capacity…"

"It could supercharge my energy output cells. We've got to try."

"The side effects could crash your processor!"

"Don't care. Give it up, or I'm pulling rank."

Chromia delivered to Ratchet a harsh, pointed look, and with a low grumble he retrieved the energizer joint from his subspace. He knew administering possibly fatal drugs was a blatant violation of his code as a medic, but if it could save Optimus…biting down his screaming conscience, he tossed the joint to Jetfire. The flier caught it easily and, retracting his mask, downed it in a matter of nanoseconds. For a long moment, nothing seemed to happen—then Jetfire reached out with one hand to seize Chromia's shoulder for support, shuttering his optics and exhaling deeply.

"Jet?" she breathed, poking his helm cautiously. "Jet, are you…are you alright?"

"Damn nanobots," Jetfire growled, reopening his optics. They seemed several kilowatts brighter than normal. His intakes were cycling air furiously, and Chromia, judging by the frantic dark energon racing through his wires, could only imagine that his pump was working at five times its normal speed. "Alright, let's do this before this slag wears off."

* * *

Optimus moaned softly as his broken body was hefted gently onto Jetfire's back. His optic covers fluttered, dimly surveying the room before shuttering once more as he sank back into unconsciousness.

"Alright, here we go," Jetfire puffed, shuffling awkwardly over to the window. "Someone knock this wall out for me."

"Done," Ratchet said shortly, already sawing into it. Chromia joined him, busily kicking the wall until large portions had fallen away, allowing for a sizeable hole through which the mechs could get through.

Jetfire blinked several times, a shudder passing through him. The effects of the drug were intoxicating. His pump was hammering away, and he felt hyper-aware of everything around him. The colors in the room were so bright they almost hurt his optics. The harsh sound of Optimus' struggling intakes made his audios ache.

"Let's go already," Jetfire growled.

"Alright, it looks good," Ratchet said briskly, stepping away from the demolished wall. It opened straight up to reveal the immense province of Kaon stretched below. "Be careful with him, Jetfire. He's wounded badly…"

"I know that, he's leaking all over me," the shuttle replied flatly. "Alright. Chromia, you need to contact Elita, tell her to be ready to pull out. They don't need to fight their way up here if we can get down there. I'm going to get Optimus to them, then I'll come back for you two."

"That wasn't in the plan…"

"Well, it is now. They can't get to us. And there's no way in Pit I'm leaving either of you behind. So yes, I am coming back as soon as Optimus is in safe hands."

"Fine, just go, before the energizer wears off," Ratchet said shortly, all but pushing the other mech out the door. "Hang in there, both of you."

"Will do," Jetfire replied. "Stay safe, both of you—"

Even as he spoke the door, which they had closed when Chromia ran out of ammo, began to rattle violently. Angry voices rang out on the other side, calls to blow the door open.

"They're here," Ratchet said stiffly. "Go!"

Jetfire nodded once before going for the hole at a run, dropping over the edge and turning his thrusters to maximum burn. He held his breath for one frozen microsecond, terrified that his body wouldn't last, and was shocked when he floated easily even with the titantic mech supported on his back.

"Looks like we're good, Boss," Jetfire said softly, adjusting his leader carefully. "That energizer really works. Huh."

Ratchet and Chromia, after making absolutely sure that Jetfire hadn't fallen and carried Optimus to a sure death, had hurried to the door and thrown their shoulders against it, barring it against the Decepticons trying to fight their way in.

"He's not going to come back for us, is he," Chromia panted, looking the medic in the optics.

"Energizer has a very debilitating side effect," Ratchet said softly, his optics dimming. "In a few breems he's going to shut down and his whole processor will have to recalibrate. He'll have just enough time to get Optimus to the others, and then he'll probably go offline."

"I thought so," Chromia sighed, smirking slightly. Then her smile faltered. "Ratchet. I…I don't want to die. Ironhide will die too. And then…and then Catalyst…"

"Will be taken care of," Ratchet assured her, taking the femme's hand. "But don't worry about that right now. We're not going to die. We know Optimus will be safe, so now we can kick those fraggers' afts like there's no tomorrow."

"Which there might not be."

"My thoughts exactly. Now, surely Barricade and Nightwing have weaponry stashed away in here. You go find the guns, I'll weld the door and hold it as long as I can. If I go down, don't stay behind for me. Get yourself out. Do you understand?"

"Of course not," she growled. "I'm not leaving you behind."

"Listen to me," he said firmly. "Listen. We can always train new medics. But we can't just train warriors like you and Ironhide. The Autobots need you. Optimus and Elita need you. So you are to survive at all costs. Use me as a shield if you have to."

"Ratchet…"

"Don't argue. We're out of time. Go get the weapons, I'll be right here."

She nodded shortly, leaving her post at the door to hurriedly scour the small quarters. Ratchet leaned all his weight against the door, and for the briefest of moments, he was inclined to say a prayer.

* * *

Megatron was not a happy mech.

He normally wasn't. He was normally angry to an almost nuclear level. But this was just too much for his already fragile temper to handle. His base was in chaos, Shockwave was a traitor, his own Decepticons were firing on him! Worst, Optimus Prime had somehow disappeared from the lab, from which he himself could not seem to escape. The Autobots Prowl and First Aid were taking advantage of the absolute mayhem to fire upon the Decepticon lord, keeping him effectively pinned in.

The warlord paused, flinging a tiny Decepticon off of his back and pausing, trying desperately to hear what was going on outside the lab. Laser fire out there as well. The Autobots were definitely on his base. Again. To which floor had they gotten? How had they managed to get Optimus Prime out?

"Barricade!" he roared, catching sight of the officer skirting around the edges of the room. "What the Pit is going on?!"

"Shockwave is pulling a coup," Barricade responded swiftly, moving to his leader's side and crouching behind an overturned table.

"Shockwave is?!"

"As far as I can tell. You've told me before that you were suspicious of him, milord. It seems that you were correct all along."

"It seems that I was…tell me, what is the status of our Autobot guests?"

"I know no more than you do, sir," Barricade said humbly. "I haven't been able to set foot outside the lab. We've become barred in, somehow."

"Where's that sparkmate of yours?"

"Right over…" Barricade trailed off, a deep-sead sense of horror piercing his spark. Nightwing was nowhere to be seen. "She must have escaped somehow…she's a femme, it must have been easier for her to slip away unseen."

"Perhaps," Megatron said, his voice tinged with suspicion. "You don't think she has anything to do with this?"

"Of course not," Barricade said immediately, but his spark felt like it was being gripped by Megatron's fist. Had Megatron had some inkling that Nightwing had been tending to Optimus? "Nightwing and I could not be more loyal to you, Megatron."

"I suppose. But I have noticed that one's judgment is often skewed when a sparkling is involved."

Barricade felt his internal temperatures rising steadily. "We would never help Shockwave to rise against you," he said calmly, looking up into Megatron's piercing optics. "Milord, I chose you over Optimus Prime all those vorns ago. I do not regret that decision."

The awful truth was that he did. Perhaps he and Nightwing would have been happier with the Autobots. More free. Perhaps they could have provided better for Moonshadow…

_Moonshadow_.

Was that was Nightwing was doing? Seeking Moonshadow out? Surely she couldn't be thinking of…

"With your permission, Lord Megatron, I would like to go find Nightwing," Barricade blurted. "If she dies, I will perish as well, and I do not want my service to you to be cut short."

Megatron observed him carefully for a moment before nodding briskly. "Fine. Do as you will. I shall follow in your stead."

"Milord?"

"Clear a path for me, Barricade," Megatron ordered, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. "I have spent far too long playing with these traitors and these Autobots. Elita One herself may very well be on base." His lips curled back off of his fangs, forming a horrible smile that made Barricade's very spark tremble. "It would be rude not to greet her properly."

* * *

The situation could not have been more desperate. They'd made it to the third floor, the Decepticon forces had not lightened up, and the entire base was in absolute pandemonium. Elita One and her troops were more in danger from the ricochet laser fire than by actually being targeted and hit. The only thought on every bot's processor was to stay alive, even if that meant blasting away everything in sight, friend and foe alike.

"Elita!" Springer called out, fighting his way over to their commander. She turned and offered him her hand, pulling him up onto the dais from which she was picking off Decepticons below. "Ironhide's gone charging off on his own!"

"He's what?!"

"He said he couldn't take it anymore—I think he went to find Chromia!"

Elita released a frustrated sigh. "Be that as it may. There's nothing we can do to stop him anyway."

"That's not all, ma'am…Blaster picked up a radio transmission from Ratchet."

"From Ratchet?" Elita whirled around her, hope shining in her optics. "Where is he? Has he found…?"

"He said he's on the top floor and not to worry about him. Also, he said that Jetfire--"

An explosion sounded below them, and the platform rocked dangerously. Elita let out a surprised cry when its supports broke, sending their side tumbling towards the floor and wreckage below. Springer pulled her close, shielding her from the fall, shuttering his optics and grunting loudly when they impacted with the floor hard.

"Damn Decepticons," he growled, sitting up unsteadily. "Commander, are you alright?"

"Yes…thank you, Springer, you saved me," she replied, pulling herself to her feet and then helping him up. "Are you inured?"

"No. Processor's jarred, but—no, I mean, anyway! Ratchet also said that Jetfire is bringing Optimus down to us."

Elita stared at him in shock, mouthplates hanging open. "Wh…_why didn't you say that sooner_?!"

"The dais—"

"Nevermind! Tell everyone to pull back! Send a message to Ironhide, tell him to find Chromia and then get back to us on the double! Then I need you to transform and fly up to the top floor to retrieve Ratchet! Can you handle that?"

"Absolutely," Springer responded briskly, snapping into a brisk salute before tearing off, diving back into the fray. For a moment Elita stood in a sort of daze, hardly daring to believe that it could all be over that quickly. Slapping her own faceplates quickly, trying to bring herself back to reality, she turned around and raced back toward her troops, shouting out the order to get back to the shuttles.

"We're pulling out?" Hound called after her in surprise. "But it was just getting good!"

"Can't explain now, keep shooting but start to pull back! And keep an optic out for Jetfire!"

"Elita! Ma'am, we're retreating…?"

"Pull back, Mirage! Bluestreak, start corralling our bots out of here!"

"But what about--?"

"Optimus and the others are going to be secured in short order, right now my priority is you lot! Go!"

"Yes ma'am…!"

"Hey, Elita?"

She felt her spark swell at the sound of Jetfire's voice. "Jet…! Jetfire, where are you?"

"I'm powering down by the shuttles. Optimus is safe. He's hurt, and he's unconscious, but I'm sure Ratchet will be able to take care of him."

Elita shuttered her optics briefly, leaning against a nearby wall, one hand clutching her chest. "…Jet…Jetfire, thank you, _thank you_…"

"Don't thank me yet. Listen, I've got to get back up to—"

The transmission cut off abruptly, and Elita frowned.

"Jetfire? Jet? What's wrong?"

She listened intently, but Jetfire's reply never came. A surge of panic filled her, and without thinking she bolted, tearing through the masses of bots, dodging laser fire on instinct. Her sparkmate was in danger. He was in danger, she had to help him…

She charged out of the entrance of the base, shooting down the guards that had decided to take up their posts. The shuttles were docked just on the edge of Kolkular—

A cry escaped unbidden from her vocalizer at the sudden pain in her leg, and she felt her knees give out. The ground rushed up to greet her and she impacted hard, her former momentum causing her to slide and tumble several more feet before finally skidding to a stop. Panting, she sat up, twisting her torso around to see a horribly burned hunk of wires and armor where her left calf had been. The numbness had already spread up to her belly, leaving her all but paralyzed on the ground as her attacker drew close.

"Gotcha," the Decepticon panted. "You need to look both ways before crossing the road, little lady."

She released a low growl, struggling to get to her feet, but her useless leg wouldn't allow it. Collapsing back down weakly, gasping as her body began to overheat, she could do no more than glare at the mech as he approached her, raising his rifle once more—

A single laser report sounded, and, blinking in shock, the mech stared down at the gaping hole that had replaced his chest. A startled "gah" came from his vocalizer before he fell to the ground, a pool of energon already growing steadily around his corpse.

"Close one," Nightwing remarked, and Elita jerked upwards, blinking in shock.

"Who…?"

"I'm Barricade's mate," Nightwing explained quickly. In one hand she carried her rifle; in the other arm she cradled a tiny sparkling. "I've been tending to Optimus. Without Megatron's consent, of course. But listen, I don't have time to explain. You're Elita One, right?"

Elita nodded dumbly, optics flickering back and forth between the new femme and the sparkling. "Um…"

"Alright, good. I saved your mate's life, so I need you to do something for me in return." She dropped her rifle, kneeling down and extending the sparkling towards Elita. "This is Moonshadow. She's my daughter, mine and Barricade's. I want you to take her with you."

"…Excuse me?" Elita said blankly. "You…"

"She can't stay here," Nightwing said firmly. "She's a genius. And Megatron is going to use her to make weapons and I don't want this war to go on any longer than it has to. So you have to get her out of here." Her optics full of pain, her voice dropped lower. It sounded like she was struggling not to cry. "Please. Please. I love her. This is what's best for her."

Elita nodded slowly, taking the sparkling femme into her arms.

"Hi," Moonshadow said brightly. "Momma said you're gonna watch me for a bit."

"That's right," Elita responded weakly. "I'm Elita."

"You've got a son, right?" Nightwing asked softly, pulling a syringe from her subspace and injecting it carefully into Elita's main line. "About her age?"

"Yes."

"Don't you dare hook them up," Nightwing growled, and Elita couldn't suppress a smile. Inhaling deeply, Nightwing leaned in to gently press her mouthplates to Moonshadow's helm. "You be good," she whispered, taking her daughter's tiny hand. "And take care of yourself, little one."

"I love you, Momma," Moonshadow piped up, and Nightwing's intakes hitched. Elita turned her head away. The pain in her leg was subsiding, but her spark was aching.

"I love you too, Moonie," Nightwing whispered, a slight smile touching her mouthplates. She turned her gaze up to Elita, her optics burning. "Take care of her. I'll come back for her someday, but take care of her for now."

"Of course," Elita said quietly. "Like she was our own."

"Good. Now, get yourself out of here," Nightwing ordered, gently injecting her sparkling with a sedative before getting to her feet, helping Elita up as well. "Your leg will hold up for a few breems."

"Come with us," Elita said, touching the other femme's arm. "There's no reason Moonshadow can come with us and you can't."

"Megatron will hunt us both if we turn away from him," Nightwing replied, shaking her head. "Barricade and I are bound to him. But Moonshadow has a chance. Now go. Megatron won't be held off forever."

Elita nodded, adjusting the sparkling in her arms. Nightwing cast her daughter one last, long look before turning on her heel and sprinting back towards the base. Elita gazed after the femme for a few moments, trying to comprehend the decision the Decepticon had just made. To willingly give away one's child…

"Where's Momma going?" Moonshadow questioned, tilting her head back to blink sleepily at her new caretaker.

"Back to your father," Elita said softly, stroking the little femme's helm gently.

"Can I go too?"

"Not right now, sweetie."

"But I wanna see Papa…"

Her sentence faded into nothingness as the sedative took effect, and her tiny head dropped against Elita's chestplates, intakes releasing a soft whoosh of air. Elita adjusted her grip on the tiny bot before turning and heading for the shuttles once more, her determination returning to her ten fold. The shuttles came up fast on the horizon, bustling with activity as countless Autobots loaded on or off. The air here, too, was wrought with laser fire. The Decepticons were just as determined to ground the shuttles as the Autobots were to protect them.

"Hey, Elita!"

Relief filled her at the sight of Kup and Ultra Magnus (still with only one arm, but they hadn't been able to convince him to stay behind) rushing towards her.

"Jetfire just arrived, we've got Optimus on board, and—is that a sparkling?"

"Her name is Moonshadow," Elita said, gently settling the femme in Kup's arms. "I don't have time to explain right now. Please…take me to Optimus?"

* * *

Ironhide came out of nowhere. In a blaze of cannon fire, with a thunderous roar rolling from his throat, optics alight with fire and mouthplates drawn in a snarl, he tore through the Decepticon ranks like they were so many insects. His opponents never stood a chance. But that was often the way it was with Ironhide—especially when Chromia was involved.

"Unbelievable," Ratchet said, mouthplates agape in shock as the titanic black behemoth wrestled and fought his way toward them. Chromia, near trembling with exhaustion, fell onto her aft, a slight smile touching her faceplates at the sight of her incredible sparkmate making his way through hell to reach her. Shuttering her optics, she reached her spark out to his, and Ironhide enveloped her completely, wrapping her securely in the fiery inferno otherwise known as his spark. Moments later she felt his presence physically as well as his massive arms came around her, picking her up with ease and trapping her against his warm chestplates.

"Missed ya," he said roughly, brushing his mouthplates over her audio. She nodded mutely, clutching him close, reveling in the warmth of his spark, so close to hers once more.

"How's Catalyst?"

"She misses her mother," Ironhide replied softly, pressing his face into his mate's shoulder. His spark soared at the feel of her, alive and well, in his arms once more. "You'll be able to sense her better once we get out of here."

"Hey, you guys!" Springer cheered, hopping in through the massive hole in the wall and spotting the trio of bots nearby. "You all okay? Elita sent me to pick you guys up."

"I'm not being carried," Ratchet said stiffly, and Ironhide smirked.

"Ya won't have to, medic. I've, er, cleared us a path, so to speak."

"How very thoughtful of you," Chromia snorted, caressing his strong jawline. "Well, I, for one, have spent enough time in this Pit-sorry excuse for a base. I don't know about you three, but I'm out of here."

* * *

The sight of her beloved sparkmate was shocking. Elita One stepped cautiously into the room, optics widening as she drew closer. Optimus looked terrible. He wasn't even recognizable. For a moment Elita wondered if Kup had given her the wrong room, but there was no denying the way her spark was reacting to that of the mech lying nearby.

She approached his bedside quietly, afraid to touch him—he looked like he'd break with the slightest breath of wind. His armor was stripped away almost completely, leaving his vulnerable protoform torn and exposed. There were dents in his helm, open, split ridges in his face, cracks in his denta. His limbs were all mangled and torn, and one of his chestplates had been ripped away entirely, leaving his sparkcase exposed to the outside world. Elita gently ran her fingers down his faceplates, shuddering at how utterly cold he felt.

The worst part of it was the feel of their sparklink. She could feel him, but barely—it was like a bad radio signal. Fading in and out at random, never clear…it was as though their bond was just barely hanging on, suspended in existence by force of will alone. He'd been tortured and beaten and he was sick, but Optimus hadn't let go of their bond…

"Optimus," she all but moaned, falling to her knees at his bedside and clutching one of his hands in both of hers. "Optimus…I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…I should have gotten here sooner, I…_Optimus_…"

She pressed her foreplate to the back of his hand, shuttering her optics tightly. She could barely feel the energon moving through his fuel lines. Her mate was truly on the brink of death. The shuttle began to rumble beneath her, and she could only assume that they were leaving.

Climbing to her feet, she pulled a thermal blanket from beneath the berth and spread it over her mate, covering his battered and beaten body. Her fingers returned to his face, stroking the worn metal tenderly, avoiding his wounds carefully.

"We're going home," she whispered, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his foreplate. "Don't worry, you're safe now. I've got you. I've got you…" A smile broke over her face when his frame relaxed under her loving hands. "Roddy's going to be so happy to see you. He'll be so happy. And we'll get you better, don't worry. You held onto our bond all by yourself, but I'll be there to help you fix it again. We'll do it together.

"Together…"

* * *

**And there she be :D I hope you enjoyed…it was a long one, but I thought that the rescue deserved to be its own huge thing. We're starting to wrap up, but never fear—I feel like giving NB a sequel :3**

**Please review! Let's send it off in style, kiddies.**


	35. ARC 5: Beginning

**Chapter Thirty-Five**

_Plenoptic_

**It's not actually that long of a fic XD But it's taken so long to write…**

**Optimus and Elita's moments hugely inspired by the beautiful poem entitled **_**Annabel Lee**_**, by Edgar Allen Poe. **

**Thank you's will come later. Let's just jump right in.**

* * *

_I was a child and she was a child,_

_In this kingdom by the sea;_

_But we loved with a love which was more than love—_

_I and my Annabel Lee;_

_With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven_

_Coveted her and me._

…

_But our love it was stronger by far than the love_

_Of those who were older than we—_

_Of many far wiser than we—_

_And neither the angels in heaven above,_

_Nor the demons down under the sea,_

_Can ever dissever my soul from the soul_

_Of the beautiful Annabel Lee._

_-Edgar Allen Poe_

Rodimus sat patiently, just like he'd been told. His tiny legs were splayed out to both sides, hands clutching onto the thermal blanket covering the mech he loved most. Optimus Prime groaned softly, shifting slightly before sighing gently and falling back into deep recharge. Rodimus released a disappointed sigh, flopping over onto his side. He'd been waiting for his father to wake up for countless cycles now. His mother had told him that it would take time, that Papa was sick and needed to rest, but Rodimus was getting anxious.

A loud snore sounded from the corner of the room, and Rodimus swiveled his head around to stick his glossa out at the soundly recharging medic. Ratchet had made himself comfortable in the family's quarters. Elita had been insistent that she be able to care for Optimus in the comfort of their own home, so Ratchet had tagged along. He was stubborn about his out-patients, which was why he was now sprawled out over a chair that was much too small to hold a sleeping mech of his size. His head rolled onto his other shoulder, and he snorted a few times, clearing his intakes, before he fell still once more, continuing to snore softly.

Rodimus allowed his gaze to wander to a more loveable mechanism. Elita One was curled up in another chair that she had pulled up to Optimus's bedside. Her upper body was slumped forward over their berth with her aft and legs folded neatly in the chair. Her fingers were entwined with Optimus's; she hadn't once let go of his hand since he'd been brought back to their quarters.

At the very foot of the berth, Moonshadow was sleeping soundly, curled up in a tiny ball between Optimus's massive feet. Rodimus sat up slightly, peering down at his surrogate sister. Elita had been insistent that she and Optimus be the ones to take care of the little femme until Nightwing came back for her. Rodimus didn't mind; it would be nice to have another playmate. And the femme had been comforting while he was in Kolkular. Arcee and Catalyst would be delighted to have another sparkling femme on base, too.

The door opened quietly, and Ultra Magnus peered in, Arcee sitting on his shoulder with her limbs wrapped around his helm. The big mech smiled down at Rodimus before entering the room silently, pulling up a chair and setting Arcee down on the berth. She crawled across the blankets to plop her little aft down beside Rodimus, chirping out a greeting before folding her hands neatly in her lap and turning her bright optics onto Optimus's sleeping face.

Elita stirred lightly and her optics shutters fluttered. She blinked a few times, disoriented, and her fingers tightened on Optimus's as her wits came back to her.

"Magnus," she mumbled thickly, sitting up and rubbing at her optics with her free hand. "Guh…what time is it?"

"Mid-morning. Is it alright that I stay for awhile?"

"Of course. How's the arm?"

"Reattached," he replied, shrugging lightly. "The movement is still a bit off, but Ratch says it'll improve with time."

"I'm glad to hear it. Good morning, Arcee, Rodimus, sweetie," Elita added, smiling at the little bots. Moonshadow stirred, poking her head up from behind Optimus's foot and frowning at the adults. It was too early for this, and so deciding, she curled back up and promptly went back into recharge.

"How's she settling in?" Magnus inquired softly, observing the Decepticon sparkling.

"She seems alright. Probably too small to realize exactly what's happened," Elita replied, smiling sadly at the little femme.

"Why are you so determined to raise her yourself?"

"Nightwing and Barricade saved Optimus's life," the femme said, her voice steeled with resolve. "I owe it to them. Besides," she added, turning her warm gaze to her sparkmate, "he always said he wanted a big family. He'll love her, I'm sure of it."

"I don't doubt it," Magnus said wisely, reaching out to scoop up his daughter, cradling her to his chest. "I…I can't even imagine how difficult it would be. To give away a child. Even if it was for her own good…"

"I know," Elita agreed grimly. "It takes a strong bot to make such a decision. And so selfless…just when I thought I had the Decepticons figured out, Magnus…"

"Makes me wonder if Megatron is the only evil one," Magnus murmured, and they both fell silent, leaving one another alone to their respective thoughts. Elita caressed Optimus's face softly, leaning in to kiss him gently when he stirred.

"How's your bond, Elita?" Magnus asked after a moment, watching the couple with soft optics.

"It's getting better," she answered, scooting her chair closer to the berth. "Just being around him helps, I think. We're so lucky Starscream only got as far as he did."

"…I heard that Ratchet confessed to Moonracer," Magnus said suddenly, jerking his head in the medic's direction.

Elita's head snapped up, optics betraying her surprise. "You're kidding."

"Nope. Something about having a scrape with death kicked his aft into motion, I guess."

Looking over at the dozing medic, Elita felt a smile spreading over her face. "Good for him. I always though he needed someone. He always seemed so lonely."

"Moonracer will be good for him," Magnus said warmly, sitting back in his chair. "Maybe she can soften him up a bit."

"As if," Ratchet growled, cracking one optic open to glare at the duo. "I don't appreciate being gossiped about, thank you very much."

"Sorry, Ratchet," Elita giggled. "And congratulations."

"…Hmph." Ratchet sat up, stretching his old gears with a grimace. "Ah…is he awake yet?"

"No such luck. Think something's wrong?"

"Doubtful. He's just been through a traumatic experience. I'd be recharging too. He just needs rest for now."

"Mmm." Elita turned her attentive gaze back to her sparkmate, stroking his helm gently with her free hand, optics softening as she gazed at his slumbering face.

Rodimus chirped, scooting forward on his tiny aft to pat his father's faceplates before turning his enquiring optics up to his mother.

"Soon, brightspark," Elita soothed softly, reaching out to stroke Roddy's helm as well. "You've been doing so, so well. Just be patient a little longer."

"You've been doing well yourself," Magnus said quietly, and Elita lifted her gaze to blink at him, gaze full of silent questions. "I thought I was going to go insane when I found out about Blazer. Not having her with me, not knowing she was safe…" He trailed off, optics dimming, and Elita found herself reaching to grasp his hand. "I thought I was going to go mad." He lifted his optics, expression twisted into a pained grimace. "You were incredible. You stayed so strong."

"Sometimes we don't have a choice," Elita whispered, looking down at the three sparklings on the berth. "Sometimes, when you have something to protect, the decision is made for you."

Magnus smiled and nodded, petting Arcee's helm as she snuggled into his chestplates, purring softly. "You're right. I never imagined how much courage she'd give me. Arcee, I mean. While I was chasing Blazer, my only thought was how _hard_ it would be for Arcee to grow up without a mother. I wanted to be a good father to her."

Their conversation was cut short as Ratchet abruptly got to his feet, his joints cracking loudly, and rushed from the berthroom. Elita and Magnus blinked at one another but made no move to follow.

The medic steered himself through the huge apartment and threw the front door open just as Moonracer was reaching out to knock.

"Ratchet!" she yelped, startled by his sudden and rather frantic appearance. "I…geez, you scared me."

"I apologize," he said quickly, taking a few steps back. "I…I recognized your energy signature and was eager to see you."

"…Oh?" Moonracer blinked, feeling her faceplates heat up rapidly. "Um, um, anyway! I, uh, brought you all energon. Magnus is in there too, right? I know Elita doesn't want to leave Optimus, so I figured I ought to…" She trailed off, embarrassed, and Ratchet couldn't help but to smile tenderly.

"That was thoughtful of you, Moonracer. Thank you," he said kindly, reaching out to take the tray from her hands. "Would you like to come in? I'm sure Elita would be happy if you came into visit her and Optimus."

"Oh, um, no, that's alright…I wouldn't want to disturb their privacy," Moonracer stammered out, shaking her head quickly. "I mean, their family has just been reunited, and—"

Her voice was silenced by the sudden descent of Ratchet's lips on hers. The kiss was awkward, the tray of energon between them impeding the intimacy, but it was still enough for Moonracer to go weak at the knees and for Ratchet feel really, truly young again.

"Please come in?" he requested, juggling the tray to take her hand in his. "It's getting all gooey and sentimental in there. I hate being the odd one out."

She couldn't stop the smile from spreading across her face. "Yeah," she consented, returning the gentle pressure on her fingers. "Yeah, okay. I've been wanting to see Optimus anyway, and—"

"Look, I'm sorry."

"Huh? What for?"

"For putting you on the spot like that," he mumbled, kicking the doorjamb irritably. "For blurting out how I felt about you in the middle of a crowded med bay, and for kissing you like that, and…"

"What are you, stupid?" she snorted, punching him lightly in the side. "I'm standing here holding your hand and I came all this way to bring you energon. Elita was right, mechs _are_ morons."

"But…but I'm up there in age, Moonie," he said weakly, too stunned to realize that she was shoving him back into the apartment. "You're so young, you've got so many other options, and let's face it, any mech would kill if it meant he could have you…"

"Not you, though," Moonracer retorted, removing the tray from his hands and placing it on a table. "As a medic, you're sworn to save lives. It's your job. But it's also in your spark, Ratchet. You've given everything you've got to save each and every patient, and not because it's what you're programmed to do, but because you _want_ to do it." Ratchet yelped when her small hands suddenly pressed against his shoulders, knocking him flat on his back on the nearest couch. She followed him, planting her frame over his and taking his face in her hands.

"M-Moonracer…?"

"But then, that's what I've always loved about you," Moonracer said thoughtfully, her thumb gently tracing his lower lip. "You're grumpy and irritable and you have one Pit of a temper on you…but you're the kindest mech on base." A bright smile lit up her faceplates, and she leaned down to kiss him briefly, gently, just a brushing of her lips over his. "And I love you for it."

Ratchet stared up at her in frank disbelief, mouth agape and optics wide. "You…you mean that. You mean that, don't you?"

"Of course I mean it. I've got more smarts in me than Firestar and Chromia give me credit for, you know, and I don't like wasting words."

Moonracer yelped when Ratchet suddenly gripped her upper arms, flipping her over so he pinned her with his weight, looming over her powerfully. "Then don't expect me to ever let you go, femme," he growled, then sealed his mouth to hers.

"Oh, for the love of—could you two possibly get a room that's _not_ mine?" Elita demanded, and Ratchet and Moonracer both looked up to see the femme commander standing in the doorway to hers and Optimus's berthroom, fuming, arms crossed over her petite chest. "Look, I'm very happy for the both of you, but that's _our_ lovemaking couch and I'd appreciate it if you didn't-"

"IT'S YOUR _WHAT_?"

"Optimus and I made love on that couch regularly after we bonded and before Roddy came along," Eltia responded smartly, smirking. "So interface all you want, just not there. But don't forget that the interfacing is going to be a problem at first, seeing as Ratchet is getting rusty and Moonie's never interfaced before in her life—"

"_Lita!_" the younger femme screeched, faceplates darkening dangerously. "You swore you'd never tell!"

"Oops," Elita said innocently, before turning turning her heel and sashaying her way back to her sparkmate's side.

* * *

It was dark when he awoke.

The room came into focus slowly, so slowly, leaving him blinking around for several breems before he could finally identify just where he was. He panicked for a moment, half expecting to have woken up back in Kolkular, with Starscream looming over him and Megatron smirking, one hand stroking the barrel of his fushion cannon, Soundwave's monotone voice announcing that Prime's spark was ready to be split again—

Optimus Prime shuddered visibly, his whole frame trembling against the berth. No. No, wherever he was, it wasn't Kolkular. His internal alarms were quiet, but he felt peculiar somehow, almost numb. It took him a good deal of time to realize that it was simply that he was no longer in pain.

He sat up slowly, carefully, feeling welds pull all across his body, but not painfully. His helm felt heavy and his vision was a little fuzzy; there was a strange tingling in his legs that reminded him strongly of Frenzy's prying little fingertips. He'd have to give the little bot an extra kick the next time they crossed paths.

Blinking in the darkness, he swiveled his head around. The berth was comfortable, too comfortable for him to be in the med bay. He was detecting several other bots in the room with him, but it was too dark to make them out properly. There was a weight on his left, and something warm to his right. Blindly he groped out, and something in his spark seized violently at the familiar armor beneath his fingertips.

He thrust both hands out wildly, gripping the form beside him tightly, ignoring the start she gave and the small, startled cry she released when he dragged her onto the berth. There was a snort from the corner of the room, and two nearly identical squeaks from the little bodies to his right, but Optimus was far too caught up in the other bot to notice. He was touching her frantically, running his hands over her, feeling her, confirming that she was _there_, that this wasn't another wild prison hallucination…

"Optimus," Elita squeaked out, squeezing her optics shut when his hand made a blind pass over her face. "Optimus, calm down…" She choked off with a gasp when she felt him pushing at his end of their bond, struggling to open up the spiritual pathway between them. She grasped his wrists firmly, dragging herself into him and pressing her foreplate to his, whispering frantically as they struggled to find one another.

She couldn't describe it, exactly—it was rather like being in a long, dark hallway, and _knowing_ he was there with her, but being unable to find him, unable to reach out and touch him…And then she felt him, felt him brush up against her spark and then recede some, but that brief connection lingered between them.

"There!" she gasped wildly, her hands lifting to grasp the sides of his helm, squeezing his head almost painfully. "There, there, Optimus…!"

They touched again, and he gave a sharp cry, his chest arching into hers, trembling on the precipice of intense agony and intense joy.

From the corner Magnus climbed slowly to his feet and turned on the light, blinking at the scene before him. Both commanders were upright and scrabbling wildly at one another, clutching every bit of the other they could find, Optimus snarling softly and Elita whimpering.

"What on Cybertron…?" Magnus began, taking a step forward, but Ratchet reached out and threw an arm into his path.

"Leave them," the medic advised quietly. "If they don't get their bond back now, they never will."

Magnus considered for a moment before nodding, stepping forward to quietly scoop the sleepy Rodimus and Arcee from the berth; Ratchet followed suit, picking up Moonshadow and cradling her to his chest.

"We should probably leave," he intoned, arching an optic ridge when Elita began to frantically pry at her mate's chestplates.

"Good idea," Magnus agreed hurriedly, and they all but sprinted from the room when the couple collapsed onto the berth in a tangle of passionate limbs. They were doubly sure to lock the door behind them.

* * *

It was nirvana, being together again. Just having the other so close, being a mere handwidth away from their other half… Elita couldn't help but to release a small sob as Optimus pulled her into his frame. Magnus had shut the light off in a hurry before departing; the only light in the darkened room came from Optimus's exposed spark.

Their bond was opening again—slowly, _painfully_ slowly, but it was opening nonetheless. They were no longer reaching to each other but _into_ each other, plunging their astral beings into the bond and trying to drag their other half through. Their only connection to the physical world lay in the hands of their partner, touching and caressing and holding in a sort of frenzied dance.

"Where are you?" she gasped desperately, not really meaning to say it aloud but at that point definitely not giving a frag.

"Here," he panted weakly, pressing his mouthplates to her audio and pulling her into his frame. "Here, here, I'm right here!"

She threw herself into the bond again. It was as though the hallway had been illuminated somewhat; she could see his shadow dancing on the wall, but still couldn't find him in the dark.

"Optimus!"

"I know, I know! Lita, Lita—open," he said breathlessly, placing one large hand over her chestplates. They parted without any inhibitions, and with a soft groan he pulled her close, brushing his naked spark to hers.

The hallway—their bond—burst open with hurricane force, flooding their connection with light, dragging them into one another with a pull equivalent to that of a black hole. Their sparks writhed and came together with a flash so intense they were both blinded for several moments. At that point they were too deeply immersed in one another to care. Sobbing, gasping, laughing and crying all at the same time, they wrapped around each other physically and mentally, emotionally and spiritually, becoming _one _again, becoming _whole. _Their sparks surged together, melting and blending until there was no distinction between them. Minds open and laid bare for the other to see, they plunged into one another's memories.

Rodimus, crying, Elita, holding him in their darkened quarters—

Nightwing, crouched behind Optimus's fallen body, carefully rewiring his head—

Ironhide, roaring and spitting with rage, Elita fighting back her own, as well as her tears—

The electric current, tearing him apart from the inside out, the agony piercing through him, pulling screams from the deepest nooks and crannies of his core being—

Her helplessness, the joors she spent tossing and turning on an empty berth, feeling his pain in her spark, not being able to comfort, to soothe—

The feeling—being torn away from her, feeling his spark literally pulled in two, feeling their bond being stretched and then broken…

It was several breems before their sparks separated, complete once more, Optimus's in one piece and healthy again. Elita didn't realize she'd been crying until she felt thick, blunt, warm fingers brushing at her cheekplates.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, wiping at her optics, but he shushed her gently, stilling her hands.

"Don't be. You can cry."

She moved closer to him, entwining her body with his, shuttering her optics and breathing in his scent, listening to the rhythmic drumming of his fuel pump. "I thought I was going to lose you," she breathed. Death would have been one thing—she could have followed him into the Matrix after setting their affairs in order and finding Roddy a good surrogate family—but a broken bond? To be forced to live on, knowing what a sparkbond was like and knowing that she would never have it again? Had Starscream succeeded in breaking their bond, their sparks would have been more than broken beyond repair. She would have been forced to trudge on, with Optimus but not _with _him, or maybe without him altogether. The mere thought made her spark constrict so tightly it hurt.

"Stop thinking like that," Optimus ordered, his arms tightening around her as panic swept through him from her end of their new bond. "It's okay, I'm right here, we're together…nothing will hurt us now, nothing…"

"It could have been over," she whispered, her fingers curling against his chestplates. "Just like that, it could have been-!"

"But it's not!" he responded desperately, rocking her slowly, trying to quell her fears. "Our bond—Elita, reach to me, you can feel me, can't you? We're alright, both of us, and Rodimus is as well. We're okay."

"Stop _comforting_ me, Optimus!" she growled, burying her face into his neck. "You told me I could cry!"

"Oh, well, so I did, but—"

"Then I'm going to cry!"

He sighed gently, leaning down to gently press his lips to the crest of her helm as she began to sob against his neckplates. He kept his promise, allowing her to sniffle and cry for a good few breems, staining his armor where her scrabbling fingers hadn't already stripped the paint.

"Never again," she groaned once she'd settled down some, content to let him hold her. "Never, _ever_ again, understand me? If you stay, I stay, and if you pull out, I'm going with you. We're not going be apart again, understand?"

"I understand," he assured her, stroking her back with gentle hands. "I love you, Lita…"

"You idiot. I love you too."

A long time passed in silence after that, he holding her and she occasionally hiccupping against his neck. It just felt so fragging _good_. He was there, and she was there, and _they_ were there, and there was nothing broken between them. Nothing in their bond except their sparkmate, and…

"Roddy!" Optimus yelped suddenly, making Elita jump violently in surprise, her helm colliding with the underside of his chin. They paused momentarily to groan and grumble to the other about keeping their body parts to themselves, and then Optimus was scrambling to get off the berth, his spark jumping and leaping, trying desperately to reestablish the connection to its offspring.

"Optimus!" Ultra Magnus said in surprise, jumping when his commander all but kicked down the door to his room. "It's good to see—"

Optimus cut him off midsentence, leaping towards him and snatching his sparkling from his best friend's arms. Rodimus squeaked as he was abruptly crushed against his father's chest, burly arms wrapping tightly around his tiny frame in a smothering hug.

"Primus," Optimus breathed, sinking to his knees, rocking his sparkling unsteadily. "Primus, Primus, Primus…I'm so sorry, Roddy, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to upset you…Papa didn't mean to make you worry…"

Rodimus whimpered, squirming in discomfort as his bond with his father strengthened itself again. Optimus pressed his mouthplates to the little mech's helm, shuttering his optics tightly. His son. His beloved little mech. It astounded him that it was possible to love anything so much.

"Papa," little Roddy mumbled weakly, optics filling with tears, tiny fists clenching on his father's broad chest.

"I know, Roddy, I know…I'm here now. I won't leave you again, I promise…"

Elita stepped from the room, leaning against the doorway and watching her bondmate and son reunite, optics glowing happily.

"Optimus," she said quietly, and he turned to look at her, his son still hanging off of his neck. "Circumstances have added another bot to the family."

"Oh?" His optics blinked at her in surprise, and he cocked his head. "What do you mean, Lita?"

"Me!" Moonshadow squeaked brightly from the corner, where she was perched cheerfully in Ratchet's lap. "Me, me, me!"

Optimus stared for a moment, stunned, before gently setting down his sparkling and approaching the little femme cautiously. She giggled, sticking a finger in her mouth, watching him shyly as he knelt before her.

"Hello there," he said softly, reaching out to her, and she hesitated only a moment before taking his hand in both of her tiny ones. "Where did you come from, little one?"

"It's Barricade and Nightwing's daughter, Optimus," Elita explained quietly, picking up Rodimus and walking to her sparkmate's side. "Nightwing entrusted her to us. As payment for your treatment, it seems."

Optimus was quiet for a moment, watching the little black femme exploring his hand. A soft smile broke over his face, and he took the femme gently into his arms, holding her against his chest as he stood.

"And what is your name, little one?"

"Moon," she chirped, patting a hand against his shoulder guards. "Moon…shadow."

"Beautiful," Optimus murmured reverently, passing a hand over her sleek helm before turning his beaming gaze upon his sparkmate. "She's beautiful, Elita. I'm happy to take her in."

"I thought you would be," she laughed, bumping her hip playfully against his. "You're a sucker for sparklings, aren't you?"

"Isn't she wonderful?" Moonracer cooed, stepping up to tickle the little femme. "Oh, Ratchet, we'll have sparklings, right?"

"What?" the medic yelped, jerking his head up to stare at his new lover. "S…Sparklings?"

"Of course," she replied, as if it were more obvious than the noseplate on her cute face. "I want three or four…"

"_Four?_"

"What's this, Ratchet?" Optimus inquired, looking from Moonracer to his stunned CMO and back again. "Don't tell me you've gone and won yourself a femme?"

"He has, sir," Moonracer said happily, seating herself in her mech's lap and entwining loving arms around his neck. "Finally worked up the ball bearings to confess to me."

"Don't poke fun at me, femme," he growled, poking her in the abdomen before leaning in to nip gently at her throat, making her squeal.

"Ratchet! There are sparklings in the room!"

"Eh, they'll learn from Commander Aft Head and his femme soon enough…"

Optimus chuckled when his femme shielded Rodimus's optics and turned to the second family standing in the corner. Ultra Magnus met his best friend's optics and nodded warmly. Blazer was hovering just behind him, her bright pink little femme clutched in her arms.

"You're looking well, Magnus," Optimus said warmly, stepping forward and placing a hand on his friend's shoulder. Magnus returned the gesture on the opposite side, smiling.

"I am. Everything reattached. I can't tell you how good it is to see you back on your feet, Optimus."

"I'm glad to be here." Optimus turned his gaze to the red femme standing nervously behind her mate. "Blazer. Please, no more of this distance between us. You protected your sparkling, and you saved my mate and son. Don't blame yourself for any of this."

Blazer hesitated, but nodded, smiling shyly. "Yes, sir. I'm so glad you're well, Optimus."

Optimus beckoned her forward, and she yelped in surprise when he enveloped her in a back-breaking hug that only a mech of Optimus's incredible girth could even hope to pull off.

"Alright, alright, enough of that," Magnus growled playfully at length, snatching his femme back and cradling her against his broad chest. "You have your own femme to snuggle with, let me have mine at least. Oh, hello, dearspark," he added, smiling warmly down at the tiny femme waving her arms up at him, attempting to get his attention. "I'm sorry, little one, was Optimus squishing you?"

"Shut up," Optimus grumped, crossing his arms over his chest. It was a moment before he was aware that he was being watched intently, and he glanced sideways to see Elita observing him thoughtfully. "What is it?" he asked, a little uncertainly, unnerved by the intensity of his gaze.

She was quiet for a breath longer before smiling, stepping forward to frame his face with her hands. He shuttered his optics, captivated by the sweetness of the touch, accepting her gratefully when she pulled him in and kissed him tenderly.

"I missed you," she murmured, words muffled a little when he captured her lips again. "I love you…"

Rodimus and Moonshadow, sitting side by side on the floor, shared a look and a huff, already impatient, even at their young age, with their caretakers' romancing. The femme elected to scamper up onto the couch and seek attention from Moonracer and Ratchet, who were all too happy to oblige her (Moonracer was, at least), while Rodimus proceeded to attack his father's foot. Optimus pulled away reluctantly from the beautiful femme in his arms and turned his attention downward to the little mech chewing on his pede.

"Apologies, little one—was I not paying you enough attention?" Optimus asked with a laugh, bending down to scoop his little son into his arms. Rodimus chirped his answer, patting his father's chestplates and attempting to chomp on the finger Optimus rubbed affectionately against the tiny noseplates. The Prime smiled when the sparkling curled up against him, growling at first but settling quickly, and he lifted one immense hand to gently stroke his child's fragile helm.

He wondered later that evening, as he sat quietly in the sparklings' room, watching them recharge in their boxes, how he'd managed to live without a family there to guide him. Meeting Elita, coming to know her, falling in love with her—it had changed him, for the better, irrevocably. He'd been blind before in comparison to the life he was living now—he'd been blind to what was _important_. Looking at his recharging young ones, he felt something swelling within him, growing, taking shape, rooting itself down in his spark—the desire to _fight_ for what he had, for the beings that were so precious to him. They were _worth _fighting for, and he was wroth to ever forget it.

He stood silently, pressing a gentle kiss to the helm of each sleeping sparkling—it was remarkable that he'd already come to love little Moonshadow as one of his own, he noted afterward, smiling when her tiny hand curled around the finger he offered her.

"I'm happy to have you, little one," he whispered, speaking close to her audio receptor, his voice low and warm. "I owe both of your creators a great deal. I swear I shall keep you safe for them."

She yawned and rolled over, whacking his noseplates with a balled fist as she went, which he took as her accepting him as well, and he left the sparklings in peace, closing their door quietly behind him—leaving it open just the tiniest bit, if only so he could enjoy the soft noises they made while in blissful sleep.

Their quarters were dark, but he found he didn't need any light to find her—he felt oddly in tune with his sparkmate, more so than usual. He sensed where she'd be, and found her just there—her rosy red form leaned up against the railing of their outside balcony, silently watching the sparkling city below. He halted beside her, bracing his hands on the railing and leaning his considerable weight upon his arms, facing the city but watching her out of the corner of his optic. Even in comparison to the splendor of Iacon's bright night lights, Elita was stunning—ethereally beautiful, so kind and compassionate that the warmth absolutely shone in her optics.

Almost in a trance, he reached out with one hand to trace the soft curve of her cheekplate. She said nothing, leaning into the tender touch, shuttering her optics when he moved closer and enfolded her in his arms, pressing his mouthplates to the top of her helm.

"Thank you," he murmured reverently, tightening his arms around her. "Thank you, Lita. For seeking me out, for loving me, for bonding to me, for our sparklings. Thank you. For all of it."

"It's not as if you didn't do the same for me," she reminded him quietly, touching, lightly, the prominent scar on his side. How many times now had he risked his life to keep her safe? How many times had he been willing to give up _everything_ to protect her? "Optimus. From the moment Chasm enlisted, everything I've done, I've done in order to be close to you."

"You've come a long way," he noted, smiling at the memory of the anxious young femme he'd met that day in the recruit office. "You've _evolved_, become so much more than the sum of your parts. And I'm proud of you."

"You've grown too," she replied, poking one accusing finger into his chestplates as she tilted her head back to look at him. "You're not the brash young idiot I met that day."

"Aren't I?" he asked with a grin, and she sighed heavily.

"I didn't say you were finished. You've got some growing to do yet. You've got to outgrow this self-sacrificing tendency of yours, Optimus."

"I'll do my best."

She laughed, resting her head against his chest. "It's never going to happen, is it."

"Probably not," he answered, his chuckle reverberating deep in his chest.

They held one another in silence for a time, enjoying the pulse of the other's spark, so alive, so whole. She held on to him and tried to remember what it was like to be without him. Unsurprisingly, she couldn't. He was everywhere, a piece of her every thought and feeling, a perfect, irreplaceable, integral half of her very existence. The thought made her spark flare and strengthen—that was how it was meant to be. They were sparkmates. Inseparable, whole, _together_.

"Optimus, can you feel it?" she asked quietly.

"Feel what, sweetspark?"

"I'm not sure." She bit her lower lip. "I can't shake the feeling that something is _ending_."

Optimus tightened his grip on the femme he so loved, contemplating her words. He could feel the past so acutely in his stolen moments with her—the Ellipses program, the Matrix, his capture, his return.

"Not an ending, love," he decided at last, turning his cobalt gaze to the stars, blazing fiercely against the blackness of space. Oddly enough, in that brief moment, he could have sworn he heard echoing voices, voices from the stars and beyond, _calling _to him.

"Only a new beginning."

* * *

…**And so it ends.**

…**Or begins.**

**Planning a sequel. You'll be receiving one more chapter update for my thank-you closer. **

"**When one door closes, I hold one more open." **

**Thank you for everything.**


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